A Long Way Home
by A Forgotten One
Summary: Set in 1920, when the soldiers are returning from the Great War. Walter/Una story that is, as far as I am concerned, original and a result of my wild imagination! Reviews are welcome, as always. Always keep faith :
1. And so, the journey begins

_Ok, I don't own any of these characters and all hail LMM. I hope you like it. Just a kind of random bit of fic; the product of a wandering mind..._

_Tell me if I should write background information._

A Long Way Home

_It is the year 1920; the war is over and the boys are coming home for good._

_Walter. I can't do this alone. He needs a father. He needs you; I need you. We're a family, even though you're dead. Oh, God, help us..._

As Una sat on the warm dry sand, she watched the sun set, a blazing ball, on her little son. They were near home, but then they were not. Her family would never forgive her for what she had done. Could never forgive her for what she'd done. Never. Self doubt crowded into her. She was alone, or so she thought...

Suddenly, Una heard footsteps behind her. The heavy footsteps of a man. Turning quickly, she saw a man in khaki. He stopped abruptly about twenty paces from where she sat. His face was serious and the light in his grey eyes dull and sombre. Hot tears pricked her eyes, and she fought valiantly to hold them back. Her throat was soon choked with tears, her pale cheeks wet with them, like a summer rain.

"W...Walter!" Una cried, her voice choked with emotion. She sprang up and darted towards him. He didn't move. His grey eyes showed him entranced. The girl, that she was, almost paused before reaching him but his face lit up with an encouraging smile.

"Una," Walter murmured hoarsely.

With that Una threw her body against Walter's and burst into tears mixed with peals of laughter. Instinctively, he grasped her waist and lifted her up. They twirled around in a circle, Una's dress flowing like a river of water. The happy chorus of their laughter rang out merrily.

And it was heard, by a small boy down by the shore, who had seen the whole performance. He was three years old and becoming more and more like his father as the days went by. His straight, black hair had the same sheen, his milky white skin pale and ethereal, and his eyes grey and serious. Emotions, sorrows, pains and sufferings of many generations lurked in their depths.

"Who are you and what have you done to my mother?" a small voice questioned.

Walter and Una looked up guiltily from their embrace, a blush staining their cheeks.

Surprisingly, it was Walter who spoke, "Is that how you would speak to your father?" he reprimanded him gently.

"No. I'm awful sorry, Sir. I did not mean to be unpolite," the child said, ashamed. He looked up at the man from beneath his long lashes. Walter only smiled.

"It's ok, Walter," his mother said gently.

There was a pause.

"Oh, well, so long as you can make mama happy," Walter sighed resignedly, turning to go.

"Walter, come here," the older bearer of the name commanded.

Then he looked down at his small son. Just as he was about to say something, the latter spoke up.

"Are _you_ my father?" he asked quietly, his eyes large and questioning.

"Do you want me to be?"

Then, something passed between them. A certain unspoken understanding; the spark that ignites the flame of the bond between father and son. A flame that would burn in each soul til the day he died.

"Yes, but only if you really and truly are; which I think you must be 'cause I look a jolly lot like you," the small chap said quickly.

After a pause, "Well, I am."

"Good. Now I have a mummy _and_ a daddy," young Walter said jubilantly.

"Come here." Walter lifted his child up and held him in his arms, surveying him. Then he slipped one arm around Una's waist, and drew them both close to his heart.

"Yay! Family hug!" the child cried excitedly, flinging his arms about his parents' necks. They all laughed and stood together in the setting sun.

"What is it, Walt?" his father asked of him, as he sat down beside his son on the now cold sand.

"I can hear something, Daddy," the boy replied.

"What is it?"

"I dunno, much."

Gravely they sat upon the silent shore.

When Una came to join them, she sat quietly, joining in on their thoughtfulness. Her blue eyes gazed knowingly out to sea. They let the sand sift through their fingers, like flour through a sieve. All three of them looked out over the black water of the ocean at night, and saw deep into the horizon and the starlight sky. And, for a moment, they saw what was beyond; over the waves, lapping rhythmically upon the shore. Far beyond the dividing sea. Immortal mortals, ethereal in the moonlight. White marble skin glowing eerily, ebony hair, eyes dreamy and shining, with the knowledge of the unknown.

"It sounds like a piper."

"Does it?" Walter asked, a shadow passing over his face. Una faltered, tears blurring her vision. Young Walter had always been a kaleidoscope of emotions. He was dreamy like his father. He beheld the same passion for beauty and hate of ugliness.

"But we do not fear it. We follow it," the boy murmured, eyes alight. Little did he know of the shadows that crossed his parents' faces. How their spirits cringed.

And so, they sat, listening to the Piper's eerie, musical tune. They longed for the beckoning hills, not knowing their fate. But knowing that only faith could save them.

_Okey dokes. Nice ominous ending, eh? Haha, its meant to be! Silent shore, Dividing Sea, Beckoning Hills; not my words. Please give your opinion. Account not found, I hope you like it. And Mrs Walter Blythe...and all you other W/U fans and other LMM fanatics._

_Is she not just great?_


	2. The Ridge

_YAY! More! Haha yeh, well, I hope you like it...and if you can correct my German, if it's incorrect, that would be fantastic! And I will be continuing on from here._

_Mrs Walter Blythe and AmericamGirlAnne, this is for you: Alice Parker from Lowbridge is coming back! And thank you muchly...you have just given me a BRILLIANT idea!_

_I do not own any of the characters; they are LMM's and always will be, blah blah blah..._

Una shook the creases from a white shirt and hung it on the line. Glancing down at the washing basket, she saw that it was empty. A sigh of satisfaction passed through her lips and she smiled, something she did often enough now.

On the bow of a young maple sat little Walter, promptly naming objects that his father pointed at, in perfect German. _(Aha! You will soon, I think, find out why...)_ He swung his legs lazily in the late afternoon breeze, as he called out the various words required of him. Walter (older one, of course) sat at the foot of the tree, with a book by the name of _German Grammar for English Speakers_. It was rather unusual that such a book had not been destroyed during the war, or that the language would be taught at such a prestigious institution. Presently, their laughter rang out, boy and man alike, releasing the powerful joy of their souls into the summer afternoon.

"_Das ist ein Vogel,"_ young Walter piped happily. (_that is a bird_)

"_Sehr gut,"_ his father commended him. (_very good_) Then he pointed to the shoe that lay on the ground under the branch that had fallen of the boy's foot.

"_Das ist ein...ein," he hesitated, "Das ist ein..."_

"_Ja?"_

"_...ein..." the look on Walter face was utterly clueless._

"_Ein shh..." the father prompted._

"_Ich weiß nicht!"_ Walter said, annoyed that he couldn't remember. (_I don't know_)

The older Walter chuckled at the determined look on his son's face, and said,"_Schuh. __Das ist ein Schuh."_ (_shoe_)

"_Das ist ein Schuh!" _Walt copied with vehemence.

"_Sehr gut!"_

As Una stood there, she thought of just how fortunate she was to have both of them. Her husband and her son. After being reunited, the family had returned to their home at Somers Ridge. (Lame, I know. If you have any better names please voice them!) The Ridge, as it was known as, was a very good vantage point for looking in every direction, and one could see the sea from it on a clear day. To the west, further inland, the green fields and golden crops stretched lazily towards the hazy, beckoning hills in the distance. To the west, the silent shore called ominously, its blue grey expanse touching the far horizon. Being only a little inland from White Sands, it was mostly unknown and had a small, secretive community. In prose, the town kept to itself, mostly unheard of by the outside world. They were, in a sense, near to the rest of their family, yet they were also far from them; separated by some indestructible dividing sea.

The little cottage was enchanting and made of grey stone. Though it was quaint and old fashioned, it beheld all their worldly possessions and they were very happy living there. It was the kind of cottage that beckoned you to come closer as it held you spell bound. Surrounding it was the garden filled with many a delightful rosebush. The grass was lush and green and it was bordered by a rickety, wooden fence. Tall fir trees stood tall around the north western corner of the garden, to shelter it from the harsh storms that frequently battered the coast. Young Walter's imagination and love for beauty grew and flourished within its walls. He loved more than any other place in the world.

The little mother sighed, somewhat resignedly. Walter, fortunately, had been able to obtain a job, three days a week, teaching German to the wealthy students of Redmond. Somehow, she got the feeling there were other things he'd rather do, but he accepted it gratefully anyway. The returned servicemen's pension was not quite enough to sustain a family with a hefty mortgage. And it was late August now. Una was going to continue her job as a mother, but now also as a wife. She was rather glad that she would not be able to go to Redmond now. As she thought of the future, her hand flew instinctively to her stomach. A sudden wave of fear passed through her. How on earth was she going to tell Walter what she what suspected, and when they were already struggling to live on the little income they had?

With that, her mind began to wander...

_Haha, cliff hanger! Nah, not really, I guess (grudgingly). And yes, I hope the German was not too confusing, and you will see its relevance soon. I have it all planned out, you see. Oh yeh, and the previous chapter was set in April. It is now late August (I _do _tell you that). Anyway, please comment, it would be appreciated. Corrections and criticism readily accepted. And ideas too. Thanks for reading!_


	3. Una Remembers

_Well, now we are really getting into things, aren't we? Boy am I enjoying keeping you all nicely confused and in suspense… haha Account not found (winking smiley face). But if you do have any questions with regards to this story or any others, please ask me because I am willing to explain. However, I cannot tell you too much because that would ruin the story! And please don't be confused by the German in the previous chapter; its all "meant to be"…you will discover exactly why later on, sort of._

_Any way, I don't own these characters or the Piper etc. And all hail LMM's "coming out soon" book, _The Blythes are Quoted. _Google it. You won't regret it, particularly if you live in America or Canada, I think._

When she saw the train round the bend, she had been pretty sure, almost positive, that she would never see him again. Hear him laugh, see him smile, feel the warm touch of his hand against hers, hear his melodious voice recounting of the glorious battles of yore or the beauty of the night nymph. Neverr again would she feel his steady gaze watching her. But, something invivisble, some unspoken bond had been formed between them over the past few years. For Una, Walter would never, could never, be the same person to her again, ever. And, she once thought, still thought, that perhaps it was thanks to to that fatal announcement the night of the harbour dance.

The memory of the harbour dance was still as clear as day to her…the music, the dancers, everything. How loving and tender Walter had been, despite the sudden shadow of war that now loomed overhead. That declaration had caused Una to momentarily blackout, and she had, in doing so, bumped her head againsst a low hanging bow of the tree she had been standing by. This had been an onset of the sudden severe pain that had struck her heart; so painful that consciousness had slipped away for a few moments, and the tree had brought it sharply back. And, incidently, a headache and a horrible sickening feeling in her soul of the coming hardship, ended up being the end result.

As she stood there, it seemed that time had frozen around her. The voices of her husband and son mingled into a silent nothingless. She remembered fondly the way Walter had helped her into Jem's boat, how he'd walked her home, and especially the way he had kept his arm around her waist for "extra support", as he'd carefully put it. Later on, when they'd discussed their past and how it would impact their new life together, Walter told Una of how something inside of him had snapped.

"_It was then that I realised just how understanding and loving you were; how important our friendship was. How important _you _were to not quite how much I'd come to love and depend on you…yet."_

The kiss he had given her before he left may have seemed brotherly, but it had a certain sweetness in it that belonged only to love. Una had known, always had known, how Walter felt about war: particularly the one he was going to fight in. At Redmond he had written her letters containing much of his bitterness and sorrow; and once he had reached the dreaded front, of some of the things he had seen, heard and felt. But also of things that he had known all along. She, in turn, had trusted him to many secrets that she had held inside her heart and of the things that pained her soul. The suffering from her motheer's death, and the way it had inflicted her and hurt her deeply, oh so deeply. They had become soulmates, confidances; refuges for each other when times bought it down upon then too hard.

When word came that Walterhad been killed at Courcelette, the flame went out. Snuffed out by a single German bullet. And she had not, did not ever, blame the poor boy who had shot it, knowing inside of him, that if he didn't, there would be hell to pay.

But she had known; the Piper and Dog Monday had seen to that! Oh, the look in that poor dog's faithful, brown eyes, and the ominous moaning of the tune interwined with the wind.

"Mummy mummy mummy. Can we bake monkey face cookies? Please!" the last word of the request was dragged out into an imploring plead.

"Oh, I…I guess so," Una stammered, being woken joltingly from her reverie. She blinked and shook her head to rid it of the cobwebs of the past, which were clouding her conscience.

"YAY!!!" cried the small youth, and with that he ran enthusiastically to the small kitchen at the rear of the cottage.

"Are you ok, sweetheart?" Walter asked gently, approaching her from behind. He lay his hand over hers and looked softly into her eyes.

"Hmmm…yes. I'm fine. I was just remebering, you know, things of the past," she replied meditatively.

Walter gave her hand a comforting squeeze but she saw that sad, haunted look in his eyes. He understood. Tears came to her eyes, but he brushed them away and smiled. She smiled back, as bravely as she could. Hand in hand, they walked back into the house, together.

"Mummy. Can we put lots and lots and lots of extra sugar into the cookies?" demanded young Walter of his mother, tugging impatiently on her skirt.

"Don't be so impatient, Walter. Can't you see your mother and I were busy?" but the older Walter's eyes were shining.

"Sorry." The young mind was working. "But _can_ we?" persisted Walt. "Please. They will be ever so much nicer if we do. Please please please."

"We don't have sugar to our abundance, Walter. So not _too_ much," Una assented.

"Hooray!" cried both Walters, the younger of which threw his arms in the air and ran off to do a victory lap of the garden. "Monkey face cookies all round!" added Walter jubilantly.

"Really, Walter. You're not much older than your son. Goodness gracious me!" with that comment made Una turned around to begin cooking the said cookies. Walter only laughed boyishly. The same laugh that echoed hauntingly in Rainbow Valley.

For a moment, all the past's troubles vanished into nothing. Una smiled gently, glad to see him happy.

_Hahaha, that is not all. There may be another couple of chapters to come. One cannot possibly stuff everything into the one chapter, of course. It must flow…_

_Please leave a review though, it would be much appreciated. And tell me if I mix my facts. And if you have any suggestions to make as to the going of my story…"I want to know", as Davy Keith says with great gusto._

_Have a lovely day…but it may be about to get a whole lot more confusing and scandalous! Haha, not too much though. But I must admitt that Walter and Una are in a little bit of a pickle. They are not dead, but their family doesn't know this…_

_Always keep faith (particularly in this story, it will work out!!)._

_A Forgotten One (mwhahahahaha…gleefully evil laugh)_


	4. What fate can do

_Hmm...I think that this is going to be a longer chapter than the others. Please tell me if it's _too_ long, and I will include less next chapter. Sorry for the delay in updating! Blame maths and science exams and all that kind of stuff. Makes my life hell *annoyed/angry face*._

_This is set right at the end of July/August. You see, it must flow with _Rilla of Ingleside_. And Walter must get time enough to get back to the Western Front to be shot at Courcelette *sob sob*. And I would just like to say that even though I am writing a story about Walter coming back to life and he and Una getting married and stuff, I believe, in my heart of hearts, that he died. So what happened to Una for the rest of the book and her life, in my imagination, is far from happy. And I will write a fic about that. But I warn you, I am going to make it as sad, tragic, hopeless, torturous, painful and heartbreaking as I possibly can. I really _hope _that you will cry, and don't be afraid to say if you do...please tell me!_

_I don't own anything I and am saying this now and it will apply to the rest of my story. All LMM's. It'll save me saying it a million times in the future, if you know what I mean. I hope with all my heart that you like it, especially _Account not found_, _Mrs Walter Blythe _and _AmericanGirlAnne_._

Unexpected Happenings

Una, after not being able to become a nurse like Faith, moved to Nova Scotia for Red Cross work and because life at home was sending her insane. It was just too much for her to be trapped in the Glen, like a tortured animal in a cage. How she managed to stay so long, she could never fathom. It was, as some say, 'foreordained'. It all seemed a bad dream now, with splashes of confused hope and happiness.

An elderly, almost forgotten great-aunt had taken her in when Una had told her who she was. The said aunt was found to be one of the race-that-knew-Joseph, and a wonderful friendship blossomed between them. This kindly, understanding old lady was known as 'Aunt Lidia' or simply 'Aunt Liddy' by those who knew her well. She was Cecilia's mother's sister. She was small and not thin. Her eyes were a clear, flashing blue, her hair was mostly a darkish grey and she had a warm and caring face, well worn with the lines of knowledge. Having been a nurse when she was younger, she was capable and knew about diseases of all types, wounds, broken bones and had even been a mid-wife at one stage in her life. Her hands were those of a gentle yet experienced and skilled woman who had learned much from what life had taught her.

Aunt Liddy had a small apartment near the port of Nova Scotia. It was situated near the main street, where many soldiers embarked and disembarked from troop ships that came to the port. Whenever one of the big grey ships unloaded its cargo, the streets around the docks were fairly choked with soldiers, mostly Canadian. Cafes were making good use of the soldiers and their pockets, but even more so were the pubs. As she walked through the streets, Una always kept her eye out for certain Canadian soldiers. Even though it was futile, the former always kept her eyes peeled as she scanned the waves of men, for a familiar face. More than once, her eyes had deceived her, giving her a few blessed seconds of false hope.

One afternoon in late July, when the world gloried in the golden sunshine, and the trees waved their branches in the light summer breeze, Una stood looking stonily out to sea. After spending all afternoon, sitting silently in a stuffy sitting room, surrounded by the idle chatter of fellow Red Cross women, it was no wonder Una was in a bad mood and had a headache. She, unlike most of the other girls, had actually _done_ something this afternoon. She had knitted socks, rolled bandages, sewed sheets, cut out shirts and packed parcels, until her fingers were numb, her back ached and one stitch was no different to the one before it. Now she stood wearily on the walk that lined the shore. The breeze blew gently on her face and cleared her mind. She was bare-headed and _might as well have melted_, she thought, irritated.

The main port of Nova Scotia lay to her left, its wooden docks groaning with the movement of the waves. She watched curiously as a troop ship unloaded its cargo: what seemed to be several battalions of soldiers, Canadian at that. Within minutes the streets and paths around her were overflowing with uniformed men. Some looked fairly new and others had already endured the torture of the front, their eyes haunted with what they had beheld. The death, the pain, suffering, slaughter and injustice: all results of the hell on earth man had created for himself. Una shuddered at the mere thought of it.

She turned around abruptly as an especially rowdy group of soldiers passed her.

_Probably off to the pub_, she thought somewhat bitterly.

One bumped her roughly as he walked past. When he turned to apologise he met her very annoyed and indignant glare. Apologising meekly, he ran to catch up to his friends.

"Haha. Nice one Johno. Win the hearts and minds of the local ladies, eh?" one soldier mocked. Another chuckled cockily.

"Shut up, Walt," came the harsh reply, followed by more raucous laughter.

Una stopped dead. She recognised that voice from somewhere. But form where...?

"You can't talk...or laugh. Every girl who lays eyes on you falls for your dreamy eyes and dazzling looks," another backed his mate up.

"Not my fault. Guess I was just born that way," the voice replied loftily.

"I'll get you yet," the one named Johno scoffed, "You bastard."

"Now, now, do behave yourselves," intervened a soldier, in a mock English accent. "Or I'll have you do extra drills all your leave instead of getting drunk."

Another peal of laughter erupted from the group, as they paused to give each other digs and slaps on the back. Shaking her head violently, Una hurried away in the opposite direction. Without knowing she was in earshot, one commented, "She's pretty, that one is." "Real sweet," added another. "And sad, too." They were silent and there was a pause.

"She looked as if she recognised you, Blythe," slowly and uncertainly.

The former stopped dead in her tracks. Their voices were faint enough, but she still heard his answer.

"Hmm...she is very much like a girl I once knew; still know. But I can hardly tell what's real these days and what's not," that voice murmured reminiscently, with the tone of one who has seen much that is not at all desirable to see.

The soldiers stood in silence. Una was rooted to the spot. Her eyes smarted and her lips trembled. Laughing couples passed by her, lost in their own worlds. Then she heard the soldiers sigh followed by the shuffle of their boots, as they moved away. Quickly, Una permitted herself to look back. Later on, she wondered what would have happened had she hadn't done so. The soldier with that voice stood on the pavement, watching her. For a moment, their eyes met. Black hair, grey eyes, she could feel his steady gaze on her as she retreated down the walk.

_It couldn't be. Stop being ridiculous. Don't go getting your hopes up now, you silly girl,_ she scolded herself sharply. But her spirit knew what it had seen, and it began to torment her consciousness.

"You coming or what, Blythe? Its not like we have all day, you know," someone called impatiently. There was another pause.

"Where to, Corporal?"

"The pub, of course," was the hearty reply. A faint cheer followed.

With a sob, Una began to walk more briskly down the walk. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Her throat choked and she bit her lip so hard it bled. She clutched her chest with her pale hands and she forced herself to keep walking, but it was futile.

"Oi! Where the hell are you going?" someone yelled bewilderedly.

"Walter Blythe!"

_Oh God.__ No, it couldn't be...it's impossible._

Una's heart stopped. It really did. Mid beat, it stopped dead. Such an abrupt halt she came to that she almost fell over. Footsteps were approaching. The person was running. Then it came...

"Una!"

It sounded closer than she'd previously thought. Her heart gave a tremendous thump. Suddenly, she spun round and...THUMP! She found herself right up against none other than Private Walter Cuthbert Blythe!

"Oh my God!" she gasped in spite of herself. "Walter."

For a moment they stood there, looking at each other. And next thing they knew there was nothing in existence but them. The war was gone: the pain, suffering, sorrow, grief. It had all melted like dew when the sun touches it; vaporised instantly. Una looked into his deep grey eyes, the dreamy ones she knew and loved. But underneath their unusual sparkle lay all the horrors he'd ever dreamed of. The things that made going to sleep hell. Blood, pain, haunted faces of dead comrades and enemies. The stench of rotting corpses. Muddied fields, shell crated land and decapitated bodies, unrecognisable to a mortal. Dead men who God only knew who they were.

Surprisingly, Walter seemed quite healthy, despite the conditions endured by both sides in the trenches. His uniform was rather faded and his cap sat askew on his silky black head. His skin was darker from exposure but he was still the same boy who had left for the front, almost a year ago. Except now he was a man.

Walter looked into a pair of sorrowful wistful dark blue eyes. He saw them brimming with tears and the deep love that burned from within them. Una's slender, delicate frame was draped with her raven black hair that bore still no lawless kinks. Her skin was like ivory and her cheeks were tinted with a faint blush, despite her pallid complexion. The expression she wore was undoubtedly the one of someone whom fate had paid a thoughtful, yet trying trick on. She wore a white blouse that did up at the front and her navy skirt fell almost to her ankles. He could feel her gentleness and a certain sense of calm. Her eyes and manner bore the scars of one who has suffered much, yet kept it all to herself. She, who stood before him, with tears spilling freely from her blue eyes, was no longer the girl he had once known. Gone was her shy girlishness and the uncertain expression, she had so frequently born. No. Before him stood a woman, in all her strength and sureness, with pale lips coloured only by a drop of blood. For you see, poor Una, in all her confusion, had resorted to biting her lip to keep herself from fainting.

Then suddenly, with the impulse he had inherited from his mother, Walter caught her daintiness in his arms and pulled her lips to his. He kissed Una. Not on the cheek. No nice brotherly business either. But a deep, passionate kiss that belonged only to _requited_ love. He wrapped his arms firmly about her tiny waist and crushed her closer to him. Carefully, she slipped her arms about his neck.

After what seemed like an eternity (and one they both did not want to end), they stood still and silent, wrapped in each others arms, looking deep into the eyes of the one opposite.

"I love you. I really do love you, Una. Like no one I have ever, or will ever, love," Walter murmured, his gaze intense.

"I- love (sniff) love you t-too, Walter. I always have and I always will," Una sobbed brokenly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Shh sweetheart. It's all going to be ok. Nothing can separate us now. I promise," he vowed resolutely, stroking her hair.

With that said and done, Una buried her head into Walter khaki chest and cried her heart out. All the anger, bitterness, love, hurt, bitterness, agony, passion, pain, heartbreak, sorrow and dreams of the past, flowed out of her soul, right then and there. This touched Walter deeper than any of her words, actions or kisses ever would or could. Perhaps there was hope for the future. Maybe there really _was_ something worth fighting for still in this hideous war. After all the horrors he had witnessed first hand, perhaps she was the one to drown them out. Help him to bear it all. But, could even God wash the blood clean from his hands? And could they survive what the world was bringing upon them?

He clasped her tight. She tightened her on his jacket. They bought each other close together. But the question is, what do are they to do now?

Exciting, hardcore stuff coming, I think, hope. Hehe *wink wink* A.N.F


	5. You jump, I jump

_Ok, everyone. Just going to say a few things before I start. The last chapter was a little too long and any ideas would be well appreciated._

_And more encouraging comments would be very much appreciated too, so please R&R!_

A Long Way Home

Saying 'goodbye' last night had been hard. But morning had now come in all its beauty and glory; who knew what the day would bring.

They had one week together, so it was now or never.

As Walter stood on the little bridge crossing the pond, waiting for Una, he looked at his reflection in its crystal clear smoothness. Mirror like as it was, he reflected into the past. His thoughts and feelings, dreams and aspirations presented themselves once more upon his thresh hold. And with them came...Una.

Walter knew that he loved Una mind, body and soul. He needed her persistent strength, her fierce determination to carry on, her unbroken faith, but most of all, her unfaltering, passionate, undying _love_. With out it he could not possibly carry on: the memories were too vivid and haunting to bear alone. They belonged to one another, understood one another. He needed to protect her and give her hope, reason to hope. They were now bound by some invisible bond. Spirit to spirit, heart to heart and soul to soul. What was it? _Soul mates!_ There! He remembered.

They both knew that Walter could not return to see his family; he was not even going to tell them he had ever been on leave, so close to home. He could never leave Ingleside and his loved ones if he returned there. Surely, they would understand. Una could not bear to go back for fear of all the gossiping that had been going on about her. Others opinions hurt her, and she detested the Glen St Mary gossips more than any others. It was insanity to trap oneself in the Glen's binding walls, with a Red Cross meeting every second afternoon. Irene Howard had made her life hell enough, as it was, so it would not do to make it any harder. And Walter had a sincere dislike for Irene as he did, still, for Dan Reese. Besides, what would their families think? Doubt and anxiety filled their minds, clouding all other senses.

He longed for her the warmth of her body against his, her comforting voice and quiet ways. But like any other young man, he lusted after more than that. Yes, a different type of thing, though. The sort of pleasure that comes with forgetting what a soldier has seen...not by alcohol (as some did), or by paying the whores that haunted every doorway in bars and cafes when you were on leave behind the lines, but one that usually comes with the happenings that may take place after marriage. (You all know what I mean...) Yes, that was the ticket! He'd never felt that way about any woman before, and this new feeling was overwhelming him.

As Walter stood above the pond, he let his eyes wander over the garden in Nova Scotia's main park. The birds were waking up and the trees swayed gently in the early morning breeze. Bursts of colour surrounded him. Roses and poppies of blood red made him shiver in horror of the images they provoked in his mind. Even the warmth of the sun wasn't enough to melt the sudden coldness he felt creeping into every corner of his soul...nothing but the warmth of Una's lips would do that.

Fiddling with one of the metal rings on his uniform, Walter found that it quite easily came off. He dug into his breast pocket, searching for his army knife. Letters, photographs, dead flower petals, a few scraps of verse...where was that darn pocket knife?!

"Gotcha! Stupid knife! Thought you could hide, eh?"

Flicking out the smallest blade, he began to carve into its flat, silvery shininess, carefully, as not to cut himself. He skilfully carved the initials _UM + WB_.

"Craa..." the blade slipped as he heard a familiar voice cry his name.

"Walter!"

Turning around quickly in the direction the voice came from, he stuck his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding. The taste of blood in his mouth made him feel sick, so he wiped the afflicted finger on his uniform instead. Just in time, too, because next thing he knew Una had flung herself into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck and he grasped her waist as he lifted her up. Round and round they twirled, laughing, drunk on the joy that had suddenly come to possess them. When Walter lowered his lady to the ground, he wrapped her in a warm embrace. Softly, like a fairy's, he felt her kiss his cheek. He returned her affections. And so they stood there, in the middle of the bridge, the world passing by, absorbed in their own romantic affairs, seeking refuge for a few blissful moments from the horror that was terrorising the world.

Once they had come back from that dreamland beyond the horizon, they assumed a more _controlled_ state of mind, and stood close together. The lovers' noses touched and their lips were inches away from each other. Dreamy grey eyes and deep blue ones were brightly lit with an unearthly shine of utmost joy and happiness.

Walter gazed intently at the fair maiden before him, wondering how he ever let her go. Una found herself pressed against the railing of the bridge with no way out, not that she wanted one, anyway! His fingers wandered down her neck, then to the silver locket that hung in the valley between her breasts. He twisted it gently, whilst stealing a glance at Una's fair complexion: her cheeks were now stained with a deep blush. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes, though she could feel his intense gaze on her, the reason for her blush. Though Walter seemed to remain calm and irresolute, he was actually racked with a sudden onset of nervousness mixed with determination, ambition and excitement. Suddenly, Walter took both Una's hands in his. He looked deeply into her eyes and murmured something under his breath.

"Will you marry me?"

He bit his lip; surely this was not all a dream. _No, don't wake up now!_ Had he been too abrupt? Was this all a big mistake? There was a long pause, which seemed to drag on for eternity, but was ended when Una lifted her clear, blue eyes to his misty, grey ones.

"Oh, Walter! Of course I will!" came the rapt reply.

But with that, Una burst into tears.

"Shh. Don't cry sweetheart. There's no reason to cry, but for joy," he comforted, stroking her hair. She looked up and smiled bravely. The coolness of the ring reminded her of what she had agreed to.

"You jump, I jump. Ok?" Walter asked, as he felt her spirit weaken.

She nodded and they swore, then and there, an invisible vow to remain faithful to each other until the end. Nothing could part them now but death.

"I-I'm afraid Walter. Afraid."

"God will look after us, Una. Trust in him. He is the only one who can help us now. He will keep us strong."

***

And so they were married, that day, at precisely 1100 hours. The little church, at which they pledged their vows, was small and quaint, hidden away from the main street. They had scavenged together enough money (anyone know how much a marriage license cost in 1915?) for a marriage license and were promptly married, lest anything take the happiness they had just obtained away from them, or separate them on earth. "Like a zeppelin raid," as old Mrs Josiah Crawford from over harbour used to say with great gusto, before she died from the shock of seeing her old cat dead on the doorstep one morning.

The church was made from old, grey stone and was bordered by a rickety wooden fence. Beautiful pink roses draped themselves over all its skeleton, making it seem young once again. The newly-weds spent many an hour that afternoon just sitting and talking in that enchanted garden. They revelled blissfully in their happiness. The sun shone with all its beauty and strength and glory, and it seemed as if the very heavens were singing with joy.

_Ok, say what you think. I WANT HONEST OPINIONS!!!!!!!!!!_

_Did I explain Walter's love enough? Was it good, engaging?_

_And Account Not Found...You MUST allow PMing!!!!!!! Really important *wink wink nudge nudge*_

_And yes, that 'you jump I jump' is from Titanic. *sob sob* It's Titanic's and Titanic owns it. _


	6. The inevitable

_Thank you Account not found. *smiley face*_

_Please enjoy...if anyone has any brightening up ideas I would appreciate them *another smile*_

"Walter?"

"Yes, Una. What is it?"

"What...what are we going to do now?"

They were walking along the bustling main street of Nova Scotia. Soldiers on leave were scattered everywhere and girls ran squealing through the crowds of people. The cafes and restaurants were overflowing with happy couples and the bars had so much khaki in and around them it was hard to tell where the bar started and street ended.

Walter turned to face his wife, a puzzled expression on his face. He met her eyes. They looked anxious, almost fearful of what might happen next. Then she quickly looked away, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. As if guessing Una's thoughts, he wrapped her in hug and kissed her hair.

"Don't know. And don't care either. So long as I'm with you," he replied casually.

"Then you should meet Aunt Liddy. I'm sure she'd love to get acquainted. Speaking of which, what on earth is the time? She'll be sending out a search party to look for me, if I don't get home soon," Una said hurriedly.

She grabbed Walter's hand and pulled him roughly in the direction of her aunt's place, without even waiting for him to give the time. He stumbled after her as she marched most determinedly through the darkening streets.

***

"Come on! We're nearly there."

"Jeez, Una. Give a lad time enough to catch his breath. Does this Aunt of yours know about me or what we've gone and done today?" this was added almost as an after thought.

Una came abruptly to a halt. She hesitated.

"Oh, dear. No, I'm afraid she doesn't. What ever shall I do, Walter?" she cried, suddenly in the depths of despair. She turned around. Her purposeful marching had come to a stop, for the moment, anyway.

"The truth," came the reply, with a tone that implied it was the most obvious thing in the world to do at that particular period of time.

They were standing just inside the gate to Aunt Liddy's place. Tiny star daisies and pungent mint grew closely along the edges of the path. The rickety fence that bordered the front of the house was covered in a dense layer of sweet jasmine.

DING DONG!! The door bell rang shrilly.

"I do hope that's Una," Aunt Liddy muttered to herself as she put down her book to get up and open the door.

She undid the lock and began to open the door. As she did so, Una burst in, Walter closely behind her.

"Una, you really ought not...well! Upon my soul!" Aunt Liddy gasped, quite speechless, "Who in the world are you?" She pointed a finger at a rather startled Walter.

"Me?!" alarmed and quite worried.

"Yes you! Now, pray, what do you want with Una?"

There was an awkward pause. Aunt Liddy closed the door behind them. When they were trapped safely against the wall in the hallway, she proceeded with her interrogation.

"Well? Who is he, Una?" the aunt asked in her most stern voice.

"He...he's my...my..." the poor girl stammered.

"Speak, child. Who _is_ he?" she fixed a rather scared soldier with an icy glare from behind her spectacles.

"He's my husband!" Una blurted out desperately, her hands clasped together.

"Oh! God help us! Heaven have mercy on me!" the poor lady cried out, throwing her hands into the air. She collapsed into a chair that sat conveniently in the hall way.

"Sit down, sit down," she motioned to the other chair. Una fell into it, her face pallid and a hopeless expression coming over her face. Walter merely leaned against the wall, and put his hands into his pocket. When he saw the two women's faces, he bit his lip.

"Una. How could you, what were you thinking?" her aunt asked, shaken from the shock.

Una sat very still, looking down at her hands. She said nothing. Silence descended over them.

"You better have something very good to say about yourself, young man, if you want to avoid being courts martialled for inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour," this was directed at Walter who was now standing in the hallway, looking out of the window in the top half of the door. He turned, and responded by raising his eye brows. Then he sighed.

"Do you think that all soldier are ill-mannered and immoral?" he questioned, resuming his gaze out the window. His tone was steady and even.

"How dare you-" she began.

"It's Walter, Aunt Liddy. The one I told you about when, well, _you know_," Una interrupted meekly.

"That's no excuse for..."

"I was only asking you an honest question."

"Don't you sass me, Mr Who-ever-you-are! Just you mind your manners now," but her voice was not quite so sure. The old lady had seen something in his eyes; the flame of a kindred spirit? A soul of the race-that-knew-Joseph?

"Wasn't sassing you," his voice had a note of sarcasm in it and his eyes now showed his amusement of the whole situation. He chuckled, he liked being a cheeky soldier, it really was great fun.

"Oh yes you were."

"No, I was not," calmly.

"I _beg_ your pardon?!"

"You have it."

"How _dare_ you speak to me like that!" but there was a change in her voice and her eyes twinkled.

"I do dare," Walter's eyes flashed mischievously and he grinned.

"Well, of all the impertinence!" by now Aunt Liddy was enjoying herself. Soldiers were funny, particularly ones like this. They were of the kind that knew how to argue properly.

"Me? Impertinent? I should think not!" Why couldn't there be more old ladies like this around the place?

"Dear me. What a terrible young man you are!" Aunt Liddy shook her head, as if to be ashamed.

Their eyes met. Sharp, snapping ones and dreamy grey ones.

"Hold on! What...what is going on?" Una frowned as she rose from her seat. Something wasn't quite right.

"Oh, nothing, my dear. This aunt of yours, here, is being a mighty peculiar old lady," her husband replied loftily, gesturing to the said aunt with a wave of his hand, "Really, Una, I would have thought you to be more observant than that."

"Don't you mock me, Walter Blythe," she threatened.

"Wasn't mocking, _or_ sassing you, wife dearest," he winked at Aunt Liddy. The race-that-knew-Joseph always knew one another.

"WALTER!!" Una was furious. She hated it when he did that. It was _so_ aggravating!

He threw back his head and laughed loudly. Aunt Liddy chuckled delightedly in her funny way (she sounded rather like a chook). Una growled at them both, and then laughed too, something she did very rarely.

***

"Well, I don't suppose you'll let me persuade you to help me wash the dishes," Aunt Liddy said as they sat around the sitting room fire.

Walter had finished his share of the cake (he ate at least half of it) and was now sitting with his head propped against his hand, looking across the room at Una who sat silhouetted in front of the blazing fire in the hearth. He had a strange, foreign look in his wonderful grey eyes.

"Oh, don't be silly, Aunty. Of course we'll help you do the dishes," Una jumped lightly to her feet and began collecting the supper dishes. She was consciously aware of Walter's steady gaze upon her.

"Now now, no need to do them tonight. You just enjoy yourselves." She trusted them, for they had told her pretty much the whole story over tea. She gently took the dishes from Una's hands and walked to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Aunt Liddy could hear their hushed tones. She heard their footsteps as they mounted the stairs: heavy army boots and light pattering. Then Una's bedroom door clicked behind them. She sighed.

_Yes, I was going to put more description in, by someone advised me otherwise. I hope you all like it. I will try to review more often, if maths will permit it.*growls at maths* And I would also really appreciate it if you took a look at my other fics, particularly The Silent Army. I want to know what you really think._


	7. Life can be cruel

_Thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate them *smile face*_

_Someone left me a very interesting review but they are anonymous. Well, anonymous person, if you read this, I appreciate what you have written, and can explain some of them._

_1) Ok, I'm an Aussie, so I didn't know what was what. It was just a guess. I'll have to change it. Would it be ok to say that the last couple (?) of chapters are set in Halifax, Nova Scotia? And can there still be the port of Nova Scotia?_

_Shows how good my geography skills are! *gets a glare from geo teacher*_

_2) I know that it is considered profane. I'll make them say something else. However, I do think he would have said that in front of a woman, BECAUSE he was a soldier. I do not doubt that all of the boys that went to war in Rilla of Ingleside would have changed the way they spoke (Jem particularly but the rest to a lesser extent). What would you say if a bomb landed right next to you and didn't kill you but at least threw you in the opposite direction and covered you in rubble? Oh dear me? _

_I think not._

_3) Umm...I'm not quite sure what you are trying to say in this one. Are you saying that he ought to be an officer or be of higher rank?_

_Because if so, that is quite easily explained. Just because someone may come from an upper class of society or a well off family, doesn't mean they would automatically get a higher ranking (let exclude the British here, as many of their officers were officers for no other reason than that.) Walter is a private, an ordinary soldier._

_4) It is in my opinion that if Walter had had the chance to return home, he probably would not have taken it. I think that he would have found it almost to hard to leave them again and would have felt it was not fair to put his family, particularly his mother, through all the pain of parting again. But the likelihood of him getting leave at that time would have pretty small, anyway, because all the men in the allied were needed at the front for the Somme offensives (which were a disaster for everyone, including the poor Germans)._

_I am terribly sorry for writing so much._

***

Una got up quickly from the bench she was sitting on. There were voices approaching. She had not been waiting long for Walter and his mates to arrive. They had decided to meet under the big tree by the edge of the park closest to the road.

"Hell! That hurt!" a male voice yelled angrily.

"Don't speak like that, Robert," a female voice said reproachfully.

"Sorry, honey. But it wasn't my fault," the voice replied nonchalantly. It didn't sound Canadian.

"Then whose was it?" another male voice asked, innocently.

"Yours!"

"Mine! How's that bloody possible?"

"We have a lady with us, remember," someone said half mockingly.

"Mind your manners, Edward. I don't think your mother would like you speaking like that!" the female voice said.

"Aww, c'mon, honey. Ed's mother isn't here!" what seemed to be the lady's husband replied.

"I know _your_ mother would be properly horrified if she heard you speaking like you are now."

"Yeh, but she's not here, is she now?"

"Don't push it, Robert. You know very well what I mean."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Don't."

"Do too!"

Then they came into view for the first time. The lady, or girl really, was petite and very pretty. She was facing a soldier with a cheeky, mocking smile on his face. He towered over her, but she did not seem in the least bit afraid. The group of soldiers had surrounded the pair in a rough semi circle. Una slipped in beside Walter. He squeezed her hand and when she tried to say something, he said quickly, "Watch."

Suddenly, the girl leapt forward and slapped the impudent soldier and the cheek. He almost swore but stopped himself just in time, catching Una's rather horrified expression. Marching off in the opposite direction was his wife, with the look of a fierce tiger on her pretty face. She was quite terrifying.

"Susie! I'm sorry, really I am," he said entreatingly.

"No, you not!" came the staunch reply.

"Baby, don't go any further, or you'll be in trouble," he threatened her.

She flashed a charming smile over her shoulder and began to run, followed closely by her husband. He caught her and she gave a shriek of laughter. Then they began to kiss passionately. Some of the soldiers whistled, whilst others just laughed right out.

Walter chuckled and Una smiled gently. Chuckling to himself, he called, "Nice one, Rob. Even for an American!"

More rowdy laughter proceeded.

"I'll get you yet, Blythe. Just you wait until the next shooting comp. You'll wish you'd never been born." Then he paused. "Hey, who've you got there?" All eyes turned to face Una.

"Hullo, little mousey," the American said sociably, "you must be Una, the girl Walter always talks about." He winked at Walter.

Despite the unusual introduction, Una found she liked this American. She only nodded shyly, though.

"Oh, Robert! You really are impossible!" the pretty girl cried. Then she said to Una, "You mustn't mind, him, dear. He's American."

Some of the men chuckled.

"I'm Susan hawthorn, but you can call me Susie. And this is my incorrigible, American husband Robert Hawthorn, who was so desperate to join the army he came all the way to Canada," she finished. They shook hands amiably. Then Walter continued with the introductions.

"You've met the Yank and his wife. This is Gordon White, although I don't even know why he has a name when we all just call him Corporal. He's actually our sergeant now, but we couldn't get used to calling him anything else. And this here is Ed Macarthur from White Sands and his cousin Billy Joyce." They all shook hands with Una gently. She saw that all their hands were hard and calloused from hard work and physical labour.

"Then there's Patrick Brewster here. You've probably met him before, when he visited Ingleside. And last of all Jonathon Henderson-"

"-the one that crashed into you the first day we arrived," Robert added cheerfully. The said Jonathon only glared at him.

As Una shook hands with him, she saw that his eyes were sad ones. And he wasn't very old either. Really only a boy.

"Sorry I knocked into you," he muttered.

"That's ok. I shouldn't have been standing in the way of everyone. It's my fault, really," she answered softly.

"Shall see to some lunch?" Joyce asked, who was always hungry.

"Good thinking," the corporal agreed. The party began to move off towards the main road.

But Una lingered. She and Walter stood there a little, but then they began to slowly make their way after the others.

"Don't worry about Johno," he said as they ambled along, hand in hand.

"How did you guess?"

"I could see it in your eyes."

"What is it then, that, well, _you know_. . ."

"Makes him look so desolate?"

"Exactly."

"It's quite simple, really. He's nothing but a boy. He and his brother joined when they were only sixteen; way under age. They were very close, mainly because they were twins, I guess. But Andrew was more out going than Johno could ever be. Identical to the extent they could fool any of the officers in charge of us. But it all changed when we did our first charge at the Hun. We had to retreat, minus half our platoon, but all the same, we retreated. Back in the relative safety of the trench, Jerry began to shell us for all he was worth. It was like all hell breaking loose. One man was crying out; he was wounded and only a couple of feet from the lip of our trench. Andrew just got up and was into the perilous No-man's Land before you could blink. Johno was only one step behind him. But just as Andrew reached the kid who'd as good as bought it, a shell exploded right on top of them. Both of them were blown to smithereens. The force of the blast nearly knocked the life out of Johno, but he held on, covered in his brother's blood. He was never the same after that."

"Oh! The poor boy! Walter, I don't know how you-" Una cried in horror.

"-faced it? It's war, Una. You get used to it pretty quickly. If you don't you die," Walter replied grimly.

"What will he do now?" she asked softly, holding her husband's hand tightly.

"Get himself shot, most likely, as you do. You see, Andrew wasn't my brother, so I am not going to commit suicide when there is still more to be done."

"Don't say things like that, Walter!"

"It's the truth." There was a pause.

"Andrew Thomas Henderson was a good mate. I'd give my life to have him back." He looked away. Una squeezed his hand understandingly.

***

"He told you, I guess."

Una jumped. It was Johno.

"I thought you went to the pub with the others." Una was standing on the side walk, looking out to sea.

"Nup."

"Don't do anything silly," she whispered.

He smiled. Then chuckled softly, "It's nice to know someone cares." Then he began to move away.

"'night, Miss."

"Good night."

She heard his footsteps get softer, then they stopped. His voice floated through the darkness.

"Walt's a good mate. Wouldn't trade him for the world."

She smiled through the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks.

"God help us," she murmured as she walked back home.

_Hope you like it._

_Always keep faith._


	8. And so we part again

_Yes, I meant to update sooner but things happened that prevented me from doing so. *annoyed face*_

_I hope you like it! *smile face*_

And So We Part Again

Walter and Una spent as much time as was physically possible together. Because Walter had been granted leave, he was able to stay with Una and didn't have to worry about going back to where his battalion was based. If you tried to escape during our leave, you would be courts martialled, most likely charged with desertion and would even run the risk of being shot. But there was no chance that Walter was going to do that! No chance at all. Why, it would be one of the worst forms of cowardice around: leaving your mates to do the dirty work because you felt squeamish at the sight of a little blood, or couldn't stand the pain of a tiny scratch!

***

Some times the happy couple would go promenading along the sandy shore. Other times they sat in the park and spoke of all things to do with living and life itself. They also spent a considerable amount of time with Walter's friends, lazing around in the various pubs and cafés that dotted the main streets of Halifax (yes, my geography skills regarding Canada are very limited, but I remembered to change this one). They were joined by any girls that the other soldiers managed to pick up, or other infantrymen who just so happen to be around. The nights were passed, wrapped in each others arms. But the week was drawing to a close. The troops were again needed at the Front, and as many as possible. Another major offensive had been planned, in an attempt to break the German lines and the stalemate that kept hell in and sanity out of the trenches on the Western Front.

***

The train whistle blew, a long blasting whistle; it was ready to go. It would take the troops to Kingsport, to be loaded onto the waiting ship that would take them back to the place that would claim many of their lives. Una and Walter stood facing one another on the platform. Last night they had been warm, but tonight they would both feel ever inch of autumn's suddenly icy chill. They had both tried to avoid thinking of this inevitable day for as long as possible. Now that it was here, the cold, hard truth came as a sharp slap on the face.

Robert Hawthorn was leaning out of one of the carriage windows and Susie was holding onto his outstretched hand, sobbing miserably. He was trying to reassure her that everything would be ok, but his attempts proved to be futile, as she only cried harder.

Una knew that once her tears started, they wouldn't stop for a long time. Just looking at the pitiful scene between Robert and Susie was making her heartache in places she never knew were there. She hadn't cried last time he left and wouldn't this time. But she felt a tear slip down her cheek. To try and stop them now would be pointless. As more and more came, Una covered her pale face with her hands. Walter drew her back towards him.

"I have to go now," he whispered softly.

Una nodded, brushing tears from her eyes, but more just took their place. He kissed her, and for a moment the growing pain in her heart ceased to get any stronger. But when he released her, it was almost intoxicating.

Walter felt his chest tighten as the train began to chug out of the station. He could see Una drowning in sorrow; slowly and painfully. He took her face in his hands. They looked deep into each others eyes.

"I love you, Una. I always have and always will, no matter _what_ happens. God bless you and keep you, my darling." He kissed her one last time.

She could only choke, "I love you too, Walter."

The end of the last carriage was drawing nearer. Walter prepared himself to leap onto the back platform as it passed. It would be a leap of faith. As he jumped and landed, gracefully, their hands were pulled violently apart. The train gathered speed and Una ran after it, until the end of the platform stopped her. Its metal railing slammed into her, winding and bruising her. She gripped the cold metal tightly, and did all she could to stop herself from crying out in agony. The train was slipping away, carrying Walter with it. Just before it disappeared around the bend, it gave a last whistle and Walter waved. She waved back, but he was gone. A terrible feeling swept over her, as though someone were pulling her heart out of her chest. The horrible emptiness crept back into her soul as she pushed away from the gate. She put a shaking hand to her colourless lips.

This time she walked home alone.

***

Aunt Liddy was startled awake by someone knocking a chair over in the hallway over. She got up and peered down the corridor. On the floor lay the fallen chair, quite unharmed. But the girl that stood beside it was in quite a different state all together. She stared with tortured eyes bathed in a misery of salty tears.

"Una! Whatever is the matter?" Aunt Liddy exclaimed, horrified at the sight that met her elderly eyes.

"He's gone, and I don't think I'll ever see him again," the girl managed to say, bitterly and brokenly.

"Oh my God, no! My poor girl, my poor darling little girl!"

Una collapsed into her aunt's out stretched arms and burst into tears. She cried and cried and cried. All the tears from the first parting and the second flowed out from the depths of her soul. She cried so hard she almost made herself sick.

"What am I going to do?" she sobbed painfully.

The old lady only cradled her in her arms and said, "Shh, pet. God will look after you. Trust him and he will look after us all."

But there were tears in her eyes too that matched the fear she now felt in her heart.

_I have had a few people adding me to their favourite author's lists, but no reviews. I need to know _why _you like what I have written!_

_I hope it was good,_

_A Forgotten One_


	9. The End is Nigh

_Sorry it has taken so long for me to update, but I have heaps to do. Anyway, I hope you like it. And I hope it is sad. . .please tell me if you cry._

The End is Nigh

Even once she had splashed her face with cold water, Una knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She was back at the Glen and the same monotonous way of life had returned. Red Cross meetings, the Ladies Aid, all the usual things. It was as it should be, considering the circumstances. Except perhaps that Una had been rather unwell the first couple of days of her return. It was odd, really, considering she was hardly ever sick. There was something nagging at the back of her mind; something she just could not quite put her finger on. Suddenly, Una stopped dead on the spot. A thought struck her like a bullet. And without another word, she flung open her bedroom door and bolted headlong down the well worn path that led to Rainbow Valley.

***

It was a cold evening and Una shivered under her thin coat. All day long the atmosphere had been tense, fragile glass, as though something crucial were about to occur. It had started gently, but had now become intensely persistent. It was reaching a crescendo: the air was so tight it was suffocating. Even the cool of dusk could not break the tension. The glass was beginning to crack.

The boys had been in the thick of the fighting again; especially Walter. Canada was doing its bit and doing it well. They were not found wanting. As Una stumbled along the gravel road that lead back from the harbour, she saw a star shining brightly above the pines near the hills of home. Usually she liked the pines, their upright figures slicing through the dark, but tonight they seemed cold and distant, like the rest of the world had seemed all that day. It was too...ominous. But for better or for worse, she knew not. Suddenly, a dog howled. A long mourning sound, the cry of a lost friend, the cry of a broken heart. It was Dog Monday. What was it they said? When a dog howled like that, the angel of death was passing. The girl shivered again. The shadows ran their cold fingers down her spine, and made her soul cringe within her. She tightened her grip on her coat and walked faster. All she could was pray...

_Short, eh? But more more more, just around the corner._

_Always keep faith._


	10. And So, Goodnight

And So, Goodnight

"John, whatever is the matter?"

Una paused, her hand resting on her doorknob.

"It's not-" Rosemary began but could not finish.

"No, not ours. But..." the minster paused, not sure how to continue.

Una pressed her ear against the door. A sick feeling began to creep into her heart. The pause was too long. No no no no no...

The dreadful silence stole her breath. No no no, please don't let it be...

"It's Walter. He's dead."

A sudden intense pain stuck Una through the heart. She dropped like she'd been shot. Grasping the door knob, she tried to pull herself together. Walter, dead? No, surely not. It _must_ be a nightmare. The pain came again. Harder and sharper.

"He was shot by a bullet during a charge at Courcelette over a week ago. They say he died instantly.

"Oh, God! Poor Anne! And Gilbert and..." but the minister's wife dissolved into a flood of tears.

Scrambling to her feet, Una felt her world crash down on top of her, into millions of tiny, irreparable pieces. She put her hand over her mouth. She felt sick. Sick with fear and shock. Sick to the core. The air was being slowly and painfully strangled out of her. She saw life slip away. No, no. He could not be so cruel as to...

The poor girl grabbed her heart. It felt as though someone was ripping it from her breast. Her body was racked with pain, like someone had slashed every bit of life and hope to pieces. The only tears that fell from her eyes were blood; his blood. Every last drop of life was being squeezed out, every last drop. Grief was still masked by the horrible shock that had descended upon her. The worst of the pain was still to come, and when it did, well, one would reconsider the joys of living, if there were any. It hung on the horizon, a black storm cloud, ready to strike.

***

She was trapped, trapped in a cage she had made for herself. Love, so far, had brought nothing but pain. Una looked blankly out across the sea. The water was black and stretched unbroken, until it touched the land where her love had been buried. The Piper had piped and he had followed. Walter had known, always known, that once he left the place he loved, he would see it no more. And, deep down inside, she had known it too. Meanwhile, she was drowning, drowning in her sorrow and her own terrible secret. Had he received her last letter? She would never know. Only death would release her from this cage, and only when she died would she be able to rest in peace.

The letter was written to his sister, not her. And selfishly, she had let Rilla give it to her. Somehow, Rilla knew of her pain. But she would never tell of it, or speak of it to anyone, not even to her, Una. Death had snatched him away, and had left her in a whirl of confusion. Surely, surely he would have written to her? But no, he hadn't. All she had left were memories of him, a few of his letters, and a photograph of him. Life was a road, a road covered in rocks and shadowed by mist. It was uncertain and painful, long and filled with hardship and suffering. Where there is light, there is hope. Where there is _no_ life, there is _no_ hope, and the end of Una's path was blotted out by darkness. Her light had been snuffed out by a single German bullet. Only God looked out for her now. She slipped the letter into the space between her dress and her breast, and placed her thin hand over it. There it would remain, until there was no more strength or breath left in her: until death came to lead her away. There was only one reason for living now, and that was the promise of new life. A life that would carry part of Walter with it, until it too was condemned to the grave. It was the only thing she had, and she must put her faith in it, and God. She would keep faith, for as long as fate would allow.

_Rilla meant to keep Walter's letter as a sacred treasure. But, seeing the look on Una Meredith's face when Una had read it and held it back to her, she thought of something. Could she do it? Oh, no, she could not give up Walter's letter-his last letter. Surely it was not selfishness to keep it. A copy would be such a soulless thing. But Una-Una had so little-and her eyes were the eyes of a woman stricken to the heart, who yet must not cry out or ask for sympathy._

"_Una, would like to have this letter-to keep?" she asked slowly._

"_Yes- if you can give it to me," Una said dully._

"_Then-you may have it," said Rilla hurriedly._

"_Thank you," said Una. It was all she said, but there was something in her voice which repaid Rilla for her bit of sacrifice._

_Una took the letter and when Rilla had gone she pressed it against her lonely lips. Una knew that love would never come into her life now-it was buried forever under the blood-stained soil "Somewhere in France". No one but herself-and perhaps Rilla-knew it-would ever know it. She had no right in the eyes of her world to grieve. She must hide and bear her long pain as best she could-alone. But she, too, would keep faith._

A/N: That last part made me cry all over again. It's so sad. I hope my part was sad too. But it could never be as good as the original.

Even though I am writing a story where Walter survives, I actually do not believe it. In my heart of heart and soul of souls, I know he died. And Una suffered. I also have a rather unfavourable thought that Walter only realised he loved Una the night he died. So he died and Una never knew whether he loved her or not. And he only discovered, only too late, that she loved him as well. Perhaps I shall write a tragedy on that. It is not happy, but it is true. Life is sad. It brings sorrow and pain. It is not meant to be happy, and for the most part it is not. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, I appreciate your continuing reading and reviewing _very much_.

Always keep faith 


	11. Fate Can Be Heartless

Life Can Be Heartless

Aunt Liddy sat uneasily in a chair in the hallway of her home. Una should have been back from the Glen long ago. The five o'clock train had passed through the station; she'd heard it whistle. It was only a short walk from the station. She jumped as the front door opened.

"Una! What happened?" she cried, alarmed.

Una stood in the doorway, with the inky blackness of the night forming an impassable wall behind her. Tears streamed down her sooty face, making paths along her cheeks. Her hair was ragged and limp, and lay in long strands about her shoulders. From her thin frame her dress draped, filthy and torn, whilst her hands were clenched desperately by her sides. Her chest heaved with exertion and each gasp was a stab in the heart.

"He's dead," she choked hoarsely, "Dead. Lost. Dead. Shot by a bullet. They didn't tell me, I found out by myself. Oh, it's just not fair! How could it be so cruel? How? What have I done to deserve all this pain? After everything that happened... Oh, I just want to _die_." The final word uttered with forced passion. With that, Una burst into a vale of tears. Her heart cried out in agony and her spirit begged for the mercy of the gods, though all in vain. Her tears welled up from the depths of her soul. Unknown realms poured forth their sorrow.

Una slammed the door behind her and stumbled incoherently over to her waiting aunt. Collapsing at the elderly woman's feet, she let all sadness she had kept bottled up over her short life run freely from her torn spirit. She had been to hell and back far too many times. Aunt Liddy gathered the broken girl into her arms. Then she too wept at the unfairness and cruelty of life, for she had had much to bear in her time as well. Cradling her niece in her tired, old arms was not enough. She crushed her poor body to her breast and closer to her heart. They sat there for many an hour; and they were not alone, for the stars above them wept too.

_Short, but it is meant to be. I hope you like it. LMM's ideas and everything. I just extrapolated on my own points of view. Thank you for all your reviews. Mrs Walter Blythe, AmericanGirlAnne, hester gray, Account not found and all those others who had kept faith with this story for so long, but whose names my memory won't recall!_

_Always keep faith___

_Do not be afraid to cry._

_A Forgotten One_


	12. Enter Alice

_I am very, very sorry for not updating, but I just had far, far too many other things to do. I hope you enjoy this chapter (ALICE!). And now it really is nearly time for Walter._

_September,__1916.__A__beach__near__Halifax.__(Not_too_realistic,__I__know,__but__hey,__it__'__s__a__story!)_

Enter Alice

The waves crashed wildly upon the shore. They tore at the sand and frothed and grovelled. In they rolled in, and out. In and out again. In and out, ceaselessly. And somehow, too, these wild creatures imitated the torment of feelings and confusion washing in and out of Una's heart. Sometimes, though rarely, they bought a sense of peace, that was all too soon followed by an overwhelming feeling of fear and desolation.

She knew the truth now and it could not be avoided; but what was she to do? Everything in life had gone beyond the state of "catawampus", as Susan Baker would often say. Susan Baker, Ingleside, the Blythes, the Meredith's and Walter...Oh, it was too much.

But unbeknowns to her, she was not alone on that wild shoreline. For approaching in the opposite direction of our distressed damsel, was yet another sadly afflicted individual. Sobbing, however, for a different reason. Had fate wanted it, their paths could easily have not crossed; but as fate _did_ want it, they did. And in such a way that each girl's life would be changed forever.

Una glanced up quickly. She felt a need to, and just as well, because the figure approaching her did not. With a jolt, she tried to move quickly out of the way, but, alas, failed to do so! Or not so, thankfully.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry!" she cried.

"No, no. I should have been looking where I was going. I'm sorry."

For a moment, each girl met the eyes of the other, and in that time, a spark of kinship flared. It was only a spark, but it was enough. For soon both saw that it could be quickly kindled into a raging fire of friendship, love and devotion.

"I know you," Una said softly. "I have seen you before, somewhere."

"And I you," the other girl replied. She pushed a few stands of hair back from her face. It was tear streaked.

"Why don't we go and sit among the dunes, where there will be some shelter from the wind?" They opted for this and were soon seated quite comfortably surrounded by tall sand dunes, covered in waving grass.

"I'm Alice Parker. The youngest daughter of Dr Parker of Lowbridge. Have you heard of him?"

"I'm Una B- Meredith. And yes, I have heard of him. A friend of Dr Blythe's, isn't he?"

"Indeed." There was a pause. "Do you know the Blythes?" Alice asked this carefully, for she felt the sudden onset of tension.

"Well, yes, one _could_ say that, I guess," Una replied uncomfortably.

"What do you mean? I am terribly sorry for making you feel awkward. What did I say?" Alice said this hurriedly, as if to try and make up for something she had said that may have been of offense.

"I-I don't think that-well, actually-Oh, I don't know!" Una cried, distressed. Then she burst into tears, burying her face in her lap.

"No, no. Please don't cry! Oh, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

Una kept sobbing.

"Whatever is the matter? We seem to both have troubles that are plaguing the life out of us. Perhaps if we share them, we can reach a common ground, or at least an understanding of one another?" Alice gently shook Una. The girl looked up.

"I'm sorry. Don't mind me," she said, brushing her eyes with her sleeve.

"But you seem c learly distressed!" Alice cried.

"Perhaps I shall tell you another time. Please, don't be offended. It's just...anyway," Una smiled weakly.

Alice only put her hand comfortingly over her new found friend's. There was time.

Alice was what a lot of people referred to as "pretty", but in her opinion it was more of an ailment than an asset. Una told her straight out not to be ridiculous: she was very good looking and was fortunate to be so.

The two girls were sitting in a tea house one afternoon a month after they'd met by the sand shore. They were becoming better and better friends with each day that passed. Today they were having a heart to heart talk.

"Yes, but don't you see? That's all part of the problem! People only see me for my looks, not for who I really am as a person. Besides, _I_ want to marry for love," Alice finished her argument in a soft, dreamy tone. Then she cast her eyes out over the horizon.

"He's out there somewhere. I know he is. He's _got_ to be! Everyone is meant to have a prince charming somewhere. Mine just hasn't appeared yet. But, oh no, what if he is lying on a field, nearly dead, because there are not enough nurses to care for the wounded, and because Canada is fighting bravely in a war without a cause, in a far away land, with not enough nurses, because selfish people like me can't just go against their parents and help and...Oh, Una, what ever shall I do?"

What started off as a calm explanation of a dream, concluded in a somewhat delusional and incoherent torrent of distress.

"Shh. Alice, calm down," Una tried to reassure her as best she could.

"But, what if he is out there, almost dead, crying for me, and then dying before I can reach him? Una, what if he is? Tell me, is he, is he?" she shook her new found friend rather violently, her voice rising to a climax.

"Don't say that Alice! Please, don't say that! And I don't know. I hope not but I honestly have no idea. Please, don't say that. Please Alice!"

By now both girls were in tears. Una was grabbing Alice's shoulders now, too, and each was in an extreme state of excitement. Suddenly, Alice's hysteria was gone, as quickly as it had come. She collapsed onto the table, completely exhausted. Una joined her. Wrapped in each other's arms, they cried. And when calm once more descended over them, they continued their chat, to put it lightly.

Alice was a strong-willed and brave young woman. Only a few months older than Walter, she too had been at Redmond when the war had begun, two and a half terrible years ago. At first, she'd joined in the Red Cross work, but that had not been nearly enough to fulfil the sense of duty she felt towards her country and the war.

"I just _couldn__'__t_ go on living like that, with so many young men dying everyday whilst I sat around learning some useless Shakespearian sonnets. Rolling bandages and sewing shirts wasn't enough either. So you see, I had to do it."

And by this, Alice meant leaving Redmond and a life of relative comfort, to train as a nurse who witnessed the broken and torn bodies of wounded soldiers as part of daily routine. After the sinking of the _Lusitania_ in early May the year before, she, like Walter, had felt compelled to do her bit.

"Matron told us the other day that soon some of us will be allowed to apply for a position overseas. The hospital (a convalescent home close by) is taking in more new nurses everyday. Soon, us more experienced girls will be doing the real work. That is, the rough stuff, casualty clearing stations and the like."

Una almost envied her friend, but she knew that her place was here, in Canada, to look after the child that was yet to be born.

_A/N: I hope you all liked it. Always keep faith and thank you to all my wonderful reviewers A Review a day keeps the doctor away (that's so cheesy/corny/both). Wow, I really don't make much sense._


	13. The Valley of Shadow

_I am very, very, very sorry that I have not updated in a few months. Despite that, I have kept faith in my story! Only, life's plagues have stopped me from typing up my chapters and then my USB broke, which sucked. But I am back now, so thank you for keeping faith and I hope you like what is to come._

The Valley of Shadow

_12__th__ May, 1917._

It was all over. The shock masked the pain she ought to have felt. How many hours had she been laying there for, she knew not. Yet it must have been a long time. Carefully, she shifted her weight so it was even on both sides of her aching body.

The room in which she lay was suffocatingly hot. There was no breeze floating in through the open window. In fact, there was not a breath of fresh air anywhere.

The stars were far away tonight, and gave little light. Without the moon's great presence, a darker night than this there never was. Aunt Liddy's cottage was away from the main road a little, and a power cut due to the heat had sent the district into darkness.

Alice and Aunt Liddy were both out tonight, helping with the onset of heat sickness plaguing the town. They had been kept away all day, but it was Una's own fault that she had had to go through with the birth all alone. And alone she was indeed. With every ounce of strength she'd struggled to bring new life into the world, yet death had only lurked nearer. She knew she could let go, but what of the child? Her baby had given her a new spark of hope in life.

Una wanted to get up, but she couldn't, she was so weak. He made no noise, which worried her. Had that dark monster lurking by her bad side already taken him away? She could feel the heat wavering above her. Her chest felt tight and restricted and her throat burned with thirst. Suddenly, she felt the small bundle beside her move. Only once and only a little, but never the less, it had moved. She must hold on, she _must_.

Pray, it was all she could do, and pray she did, until the shadow of death retreated and she slid into blissful unconsciousness.

_Well, I hope you liked it._

_Always keep faith._


	14. A Long Journey

A Long Journey

_September, 1919._

Una sighed. She was exhausted. Not just because she'd been taken down by the 'flu, but also because of the long train ride she had just had from Toronto to Halifax.

The war was over, had been over for nearly a year now. But its aftermath had only just begun. The Spanish 'flu was ravaging the already shell-shocked world. Every second house was quarantined and the solemn toll of church bells hung thickly in the air. Graveyards were littered with fresh soil and women, yet again, cried in the streets. Another monster had been let loose and it, like the last, left nothing but death and tragedy where it trod.

For months after the war, she, Alice and Aunt Liddy had battled against this ferocious monster. Aunt Liddy here in Canada, and Alice on the other side of the Atlantic. For a while, Una had been doing rounds of the households affected with Aunt Liddy: comforting grieving families and nursing those who had few people to look after them. But all this work had taken its toll on Una, who had been weaker ever since the birth of her son. Going for days with out sleep and the pain caused by separation had finally forced her to fall prey to this ferocious demon. It had started slowly, but after one unusually cold June night, it had progressed into severe illness. Her only reason, her only motive, to battle on and not give into the pain, was to be there for her little boy; the only thing that was hers in life after Walter had gone.

And how she did love him! Her dear little boy, so much like his father but so much like himself too. She longed to take him into her arms and cuddle him.

Walter Cuthbert Blythe junior was the spitting image of his father. Had his grandmother seen him, she would have sworn it was her son. He had the same jet black hair, faultless features and misty grey eyes. Even at a young age, he was showing a joy and passion for beauty, particularly in music. The music of the world, of nature, and the joys that surrounded him. Walter was Una's pride and joy, and gave light and life to her dismal existence.

Suddenly, the train was approaching the platform. As it slowed down, she saw two figures that began to materialise into people. A round old lady in a bonnet and a little boy, holding onto the woman's hand. Impulsively, Una stumbled her way down the corridor and threw open the carriage door before the train had completely stopped. Then, she leapt onto the platform and ran as fast as she could down its length to the two figures at the other end. The little boy broke away from the group and began to run towards her.

"MAMA!" Walter cried.

"WALTER!" Una sobbed, grabbing her son and pulling him close to her heart.

They collapsed into a heap. Walter was clinging desperately onto his mother's neck like he would never let go, and Una was sobbing and hugging her baby boy. She crushed his little body to her breast and whispered over and over under her breath, "Oh, thank God you're alright, thank God."

"Mummy mummy mummy, is it twue what Aunt Liddy says?" he asked worriedly.

"Says about what?" Una asked, hiding a smile.

"That you were vewy, vewy sick!" he answered emphatically. Then, leaning closer, he said cautiously, "Can I tell you a secret, mummy?"

"Of course, darling, anything you like."

"I think it was supposed to be a secwet but I found out caused I earsdwopped…"

"You what?"

"Earsdwopped!" the little boy said excitedly and glanced cheekily at Aunt Liddy.

"Oh," Una could only say, slightly dismayed. "Oh Aunt Liddy!"

"Hello darling. It's so good to see you back." Una noticed, however, that the older woman's face was sallow and her eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

But for now everyone was happy and smiling. Thank God she'd survived! She could never have left her child, never. It had been a close shave, but as Aunt Liddy always said, 'All's well that ends well'. And as she embraced her son, she cast her eyes across the grey ocean to the land where lay a man so like this little boy whom she cradled in her arms.

_Sorry for the long wait. Thank you for keeping faith, it means so much to me._

_Always keep faith, A Forgotten One._


	15. Living the Glory

Living the Glory

_It's been a long time, I know, but now I'm back! And with a change of scene, too. Western Front here we come. Always keep faith._

***

All around was bloody madness. Screams, yells, the clash of metal against metal. The smell of death hung heavily in the air, like an evil presence. Bodies littered the small area between the trenches known as No-man's Land. Mutilated, mangled, torn, shattered, decapitated corpses covered the battlefields, rotting in the blood bath around them. Shell holes filled with putrid water, mud so deep it went up to your waist, rotten rations that made you sick. Fight. Fight for your life.

***

But amidst this hell that had broken lose, a young soldier struggled to preserve life rather than destroy it. It was recklessly dangerous to venture out into No-man's Land so quickly after a fight. Once the machine guns had started up, bayonets were nothing short of useless. The groans and agonising cries of the dying rang out above the roar of gunfire and wailing of shells that flew over head. They travelled for miles, straight into the hearts of the living. It was torture, pure torture.

"Walt! What the hell are you doing?!" someone yelled above the noise. But it was too late; the young private had already leapt over the parapet and out of the relative safety of the trenches. A couple of men lowered their heads as they heard a muffled scream. A direct hit.

But had one been looking on from above, apart from seeing an enormous scale of death and suffering, one would have seen something amazing. A brave soldier risking his life for that of a mate. Bogged down in the mire, two lives fought gallantly to escape Death's clutches. At last they broke free, tumbling into their trench.

***

"Are you fucking insane or something?" a corporal shouted angrily. But as he did so, he grabbed his field dressing from his webbing whilst several other men sat the wounded man up. His arm had been blown off from the elbow and a fountain of blood was spurting from the stump. The poor soldier was white as a sheet under the mud that caked his face and was close to passing out.

The soldier who'd rescued him grabbed the dressing off his corporal and pressed it onto the stump. Blood streamed down his face, mixing with the mud already on it. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve so he that could see better. With another bandage, he made a loop and put it over the man's arm, as gently as he could. Then he slid it half way up and began to wrap it tightly around the limb. The tighter he wrapped, the less it bled. Soon it was hardly bleeding at all, and by the time the stretcher bearers arrived, there was hope for the wounded soldier.

"Where'd you learn that?" one man asked of the soldier who'd done the tourniquet.

"Yeh, Blythe, never knew you were a medic," another chimed in optimistically. "That was great!"

"My father was a doctor. I saw him do it many times," came the blunt reply. With that, he stood up and walked away. A few moments later, a shell whistled by and exploded where'd he'd just been. When he came back, he saw nothing but crimson wall paper decorating the walls. Abruptly, he turned around and threw up. He'd saved one life but five more had just been vaporised in the blink of an eye.

***

Contrary to his usual passion for beauty, there had always been something that had drawn him to German. For all its guttural sounds, it was quite an impressive language. And as Pat said, it made you sound just like you were swearing, even when you weren't. "I like cheese" sounded far worse than it actually was. But it wasn't for that reason that Walter liked it; something in its roughness appealed to his ever alert senses.

French was too much of a "sissy" language to him. Poetic and elegant, it irritated him to hear it. It sounded so superficial, and besides, it reminded him of the pubs and brothels behind the lines, that always seemed to be a big hit with the soldiers. Beautiful French girls with their seductive smiles and cooing voices. He shivered in disgust. Of course, he had nothing against the French themselves; it was just the way they _spoke_, for the most part, that annoyed him.

He'd been studying German at Kingsford until it had been abolished at the end of 1914. Too late: Walter had already tasted its strange magic and wanted more. Fortunately, Professor Müller, or Miller, as he'd had to change to, had continued to tutor him outside of college. No one really knew about it at the time, except Una, whom he'd become very close to as the war had drawn on. And now things were different yet again; and _no one_ knew about _that_!

After months of late nights and many scraps of paper covered in scribbles, Walter had finally overcome the language barrier. Just before he departed for Valcartier, his old friend and mentor had passed away, leaving nothing but a few books behind. There was no apparent will and his old home was boarded up and the garden left to run wild. This had saddened Walter, for he knew his professor well, and had been familiar with the love he'd had for the old place, with its rustic woodwork and vine covered walls.

But that was long gone in the past. Now Walter saw through a vale of blood and suffering that never seemed to end. What the newspapers described as "fighting for the good of the Mother or Father Land", he and the other men at the front saw as "fight, fight, fight until you die".


	16. The Eve of Courcelette

The Eve of Courcelette

There stood the Piper himself, in all his mystery and glory. He was the same as he'd been in Rainbow Valley, all those years ago. A tall, thin figure, with a long, grey cloak and wispy beard. And still the silver pipe played the same queer yet alluring tune; the song that had haunted Walter since the war began. But this time, he was not alone. Strewn out behind him, slipping in and out of shadows, were the lost souls of fallen soldiers. Never would they have the chance to rest in peace. On and on they would follow him, forever dancing to his fatal tune.

***

The boy stood motionless on the firing step. The front was very calm tonight, with both sides held in the suspense of the coming battle. Suddenly, he was roused from his daydream. A faint tune floated to him from No-man's Land. It was beautiful, but eerie. No mortal was capable of producing such a sound. Suddenly, the Piper slipped into view, a drawn out line of fallen men lingering in his shadow. Gaily, they crossed the bridge between the two sides. Closer and closer they came, smiling and laughing and dancing, urged on by the sweet melody of the silver pipe. The soldier's heart thrilled at the sound. Entranced, he willed himself to leave his post and follow. And follow he would have, if the strange procession had not vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. For they had completely disappeared into the coming mist.

***

"Oi, Blythe! Major wants to see you about replacing Joey after he bought it the other week. Bit slow on the uptake, but he says you've been doing the job anyway. Just haven't been getting the pay." The corporal stuck his head into the low opening of the dugout.

"Hmmn. One second," Walter muttered absently. He was writing a letter to Rilla, who had grown so much in spirit since the day those fatal pipes began.

"_I meant to write to Una tonight too, but I won't have time now. Read this letter to her and tell her it is really meant for you both-you two dear fine loyal girls. Tomorrow, when we go over the top, I'll think of you both-of your laughter, Rilla-my-Rilla, and the _steadfastness _in Una's blue eyes-somehow I see those eyes very plainly tonight, too. Yes, you'll both keep faith-I'm sure of it-you and Una. And so-goodnight. We go over the top at dawn."_

As Walter rose, he thought of something. His heart troubled him and his conscience weighed heavily upon his mind.

_Una._

He _must_ write to her, even just a few words. More than a telegram but not a long letter, for he didn't have time.

Walter knew now, more than ever, that he was never again going to see the sun shine, or hear the birds sing. Rainbow Valley and all its magic and secrets were forever buried in the past, under a horrible layer of blood and sorrow. The memories of his childhood, and everything that had once been so close to his heart, now faded into silence. An empty void filled the place they left in his mind, after they retreated to a secluded corner of his heart. It was the present that mattered, not the past. He had to live for the moment, not the future that wasn't.

Tomorrow's battle lay before him. The blood and gore to come had not yet scarred the living, as those who were to die breathed still. When the whistle blew, he would jump over the parapet, out of the relative safety of the trenches, and into No-man's Land beyond. Then he would run. Run for freedom, to fulfil his duty, and save his life. The Piper would lead him west, he felt sure of that. On the morrow, he would leave this world, to march with the shadow army, until the end.

Whatever happened, he would not be afraid. As he emerged from the major's dugout, he stuffed the stripes into his pocket. They'd come too late.

As the sun cast its first rays over the fields, they would go over the top. Blood would be spilt and men ruined by human folly. And when they did, he would give it all he had. There was nothing to be afraid of, and he had nothing to lose.

"_And so, goodnight."_

A/N: Thank you for all the continuing support and wonderful reviews. It really does brighten my day to read one. And I am trying to "show not tell"...is it working?

Always keep faith A Forgotten One.


	17. The Call of Duty

The Call of Duty

The sharp trill of the whistle cut the early morning air like a knife. With a cry the men hurled themselves out of their trench and into a line of steady machine gun fire. Limbs were torn from bodies, minds were destroyed by unimaginable horrors and hearts were pierced by bullets. The corpses that littered the ground were mangled further and the faces of dead men haunted the living as they struggled to survive.

With bursting lungs, Walter leapt over the barbed wire protecting their trench. Dodging shells and mutilated bodies, he ran on. Filthy water soaked him uniform as he splashed through puddles of misery in an effort to reach the German lines. Raising his rifle above his head, he cleared the first line of enemy defence, lacerating his right thigh. Suddenly, his body crumpled. Lifeless and limp, it gave itself to the blood soaked ground beneath it. Earnestly, but without success, another spirit had given way to the reaper whose name is Death.

He'd given it his all, and it had been enough. Devoid of fear and of pain, he'd left this world for the next amidst turmoil and suffering, without leaving behind so much as a tattered uniform, loaded rifle and broken heart. As his blood mixed with the mud around him, his lifeless figure became limp. The sky continued to rain shells, concealing his body within in the ground. Hidden from human eyes and known unto God, Walter Blythe gave his life during a war that was meant to end all others.

_Always keep faith_


	18. What Happened Next

What Happened Next

_I am ever so very sorry for the enormously long update waiting period...things to do, people to meet, places to go, stuff to see...well, I'm back now! And a whole new part of the adventure is about to begin!_

The darkness was oppressing, like death. The voices were coming closer, their volume intensifying by the second. Down, down, down. He felt himself spiralling downwards, towards-

"Is he awake yet?" a voice asked.

"Nope, I think he's dead, poor bastard," another replied.

Hold on! They're speaking German, and I understand what they are-

"Whoa!" The spiralling feeling dumped Walter abruptly on the floor. Groaning, he lay in a dazed heap on the cold ground whilst foot steps approached rapidly in the distance. Opening his eyes, several pairs of hands reached earnestly towards him in blurred confusion. Finally he staggered to his feet, sore and stiff all over. Three soldiers stood looking eagerly his way.

"Are you alright, Herr?" the corporal asked anxiously.

Walter nodded briefly and straightened himself up, trying in vain to work out what in the world was going on. The trio saluted, backs ramrod straight. He frowned. The boy on the left quickly switched his left arm for his right. The corporal lowered his arm and the other two followed his lead.

"Korporal Schiller, Herr. And this is Müller and Schmidt." The young men stood to attention, tall and proud.

The corporal continued," Major von Klement wishes to see you at once, Herr. So if you will follow me." He gestured to the door.

Down the corridor they went, a dark, dank place that never saw the light of day, not that there was much in France and Belgium anyway. Suddenly, Walter realised that he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Last thing he remembered was going over the top-

"Ah! Herr Blythe! I am so glad you made it!" a rather portly major with a booming voice announced as he entered a room off the main hallway. Taken aback by this boisterous welcome, it took a few moments for Walter to return the officer's salute.

"Sit down here and let me get you a drink!" The major marched over to the mantle piece. "What's this?" he roared. "Where is the schnapps?" With great vigour he strode out of the room and disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him. Our Canadian friend took this opportunity to find himself.

The room was elaborately furnished with a heavy desk, tall bookcases crammed with dusty novels, long drapes over the windows and impossibly thick carpets. The walls were hung with various paintings and tapestries whilst a single chandelier lit the room.

Peering nervously at the door, Walter crept across the room silently, and parted the curtains on a long window. Outside, the ground was covered in a thin layer of slushy snow. It sloped away into inky blackness, which was only broken by a myriad of lights on the far horizon. Must be near the front, Walter thought to himself. Placing his ear on the freezing pain, he tried in vain to hear any sound of the chaos that was sure to lie ahead.

"Is anything the matter, Leutnant?"

Walter nearly jumped out of his skin. The major was back, proudly holding a dark bottle in one hand, and two glasses in the other.

"Who stole it this time, Herr Major?" he asked with a smile.

"Leutnant Vornier. You will be sharing sleeping quarters with him. Here, have a good shot of Schnapps before you go!"

Slamming the glasses on the table top, he poured a generous helping of the liquor into each.

"To the Kaiser! And to victory!" The major downed his share in the one go, smacking his lips when he was done. Walter followed his lead but ended up choking violently. Roaring with laugher, the officer sent him away with a hearty slap on the back.

"It's been a long time Blythe! Guten abend!" And before he could answer Walter had been whisked away once again down the mysterious corridor, further into the bowels of the building.

Number seven, Walter said to himself. It was the door at the end of one of many long hallways that snaked its way through the old building. With a quick salute, the soldier who had led the way turned and marched swiftly but silently down the corridor, and with a left turn at the end, he was gone.

Walter rapped at the door marked seven with his knuckles. They made a hollow sound on the rotting wood.

"Enter," a voice from inside commanded.

He did so, and shut the door firmly behind him.

"Is it locked?"

A quick press on the handle told Walter he was trapped.

"Ja," said with uncertainty.

The man at the window turned, butted his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk beside him and walked over to where Walter stood by the door. He pressed his ear against the wall, listening for movement outside. Hearing none, he smiled mysteriously and said in unaccented English, "I'm God."

"What?" Walter gaped in surprise. What the hell was going on?

"Nah, just kidding. But you must think you're dead. Mind you, they found you just in the nick of time." He grinned. "You'd better sit down."

"This is you," the man said, pushing a file in front of Walter. With a bemused look, Walter decided to play along with this insanity. How much worse could it get?

"I'm not a German Lieutenant," he said, glancing at a stern picture, reading the caption bellow it.

"Try telling that lot. They'll shoot you before you can say blue cows!" he flicked a hand towards the door. "See, they were out on patrol, a Jerry section, that is, and they came across you. Bleeding, frozen and wearing nothing but a few muddy scraps of uniform. While you were knocked out a shell chucked your unconscious body towards their lines and naturally, like good soldiers, they were happy to find their OC. Alive or dead, it didn't matter. And now you're back and conscious they'll put you to it before long."

Walter rested his head on his hand and stared blankly at the folder in front of him. He noticed it had a few oil smears on its front cover. Frowning, he eventually said;

"Do I look like a German to you?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Well that's bloody fantastic," he said sarcastically.

"Hmmn, consider yourself lucky, mate. At least you're not on the run," he grimaced.

"What? Well, I will be soon."

"I'll make it easier. Private Matthew O'Connor, 5033, 24th Battalion, AIF. Gallipoli, Egypt, the Somme...and I haven't karked it yet," he gave a wry grin.

"Private Walter Blythe, 300712, 55th Battalion, CEF," Walter took the offered hand and smiled. "Australian?"

"You bet mate!" came the enthusiastic reply. "And you can't be a yank cause they haven't joined the war...yet. Canadian?"

"To the core!" They laughed.

"Now for the purpose of survival, I am Leutnant Matthias Vornier and you are Leutnant Walther Blythe. We're not German, we are stuck with an enemy who likes sausages and cabbage too much and we wanna get away from this place as soon as we can. If they catch us we're dead," Matt screwed his face up and ran a finger over his neck, imitating a knife.

"Whoop dee bloody doo. So, how do we escape? And how the hell did you get here anyway? I mean, alive and well," Walter asked in surprise.

"Long story. Not a very nice one either," he gave wry grin. "I'll tell you over a glass of this stuff. It's gold."

"Really?"

"Gullible. Not real gold, you dill. Schnapps, the finest plonk in all of Germany!" he waved the bottle so the amber fluid swished against its sides. A frosty glass stood on the window sill, which Matt grabbed and poured a decent helping of the liquor into.

"Have a go of this."

Walter took a first tentative sip, choked, and then drained the mug. Smiling, he handed it back empty. The Australian was too busy laughing to notice that it would need refilling. And besides, even if he did, he took a swig from the bottle instead.

"Hmmn, where shall I begin?"

"At the beginning," the Canadian hiccupped.

"Ha ha, very funny. Lemme see...I was in the frontline when an attack was launched, sometime in November. It's January now, by the way. Anyhow, we counter attacked the bastards but we lacked reinforcements and it ended up HQ called for a withdrawal. I'd charged a machine gun post only to lose the other three who were with me once it was taken. One got shot and died instantly, and the other two bled to death with in half an hour or so. Well, it was off to the side and nearly midnight, and there I was, lonely as a sheep. Had no bloody clue how to get back and our guns were pounding Fritz like there was no tomorrow so I was pretty well stuck.

"After lying in the mud for a couple of hours, I realised I would have to move if I was gunna pull through. So I made a mad dash for it. Got caught by the Fritz barbed wire so I jumped into a shell hole on the other side. Just my luck too, cause then I realised I was miles away from our boys and right under these blokes' noses. Actually, my luck came in cause my dad was a Hun and I was brought up in a German town and there was a dead officer, fully clothed, right next to me. So I stole his uniform and his papers and hopped in behind a scout party out looking for wounded and breaks in the wire. After a few more metres they got busy with patching up some holes and I nicked off quiet as a mouse for their front trench.

"I was shit scared and knew I was walking on thin ice. If they caught me I was in for it. I dunno quite what happened but after a bit I found myself in a CCS. That was bad. The orderlies poked and prodded like a pack of bloody vultures until I wangled my way out with the help of some pretty persuasive German and a stolen horse. I've been on the run ever since and I get used to sleeping with one and a half eyes open-"

"One and a half?" Walter joked.

"Yeah mate. My risk of running into a noose are too bloody high. Flamin' mongrels...so well behaved I can't go anywhere without one or more of them popping around the next corner. Soldiers, that is. Kids, craving some form of attention and hoping to feel their worth.

"But to cut a long story short, you got shot, didn't die and look like a Jerry. And I got stuck, fooled our German friends and found you. Kinda ironic, really."

"How so?" Walter questioned, confused.

Matt shrugged. "I dunno. That's what people always say."

"Can you write?"

"What language?"

"English, of course!"

"Nope. Well, yeah, but I'm no Shakespeare."

"Neither. Actually...well, never mind. What about German?"

"More than English. And I have gotten myself well known with their military terms and all that rot. Hope you know a few."

"None. You'll have to teach me. And I'll teach you to write more English, if the need arises. So how do you propose we get out of this mess?"

Matt leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "Not gunna be easy. It's arse freezing weather and snowing like billyo, so I reckon we should steal a map or two, crap as they are, then nick a horse and make for a quieter part of the lines. If we go at night across the fields, not where we'll be shelled by our own artillery of course, but right behind, then we can come up to the front in a quiet sector. Then we leg it, and if it's warm enough, strip off our uniform so we don't look particularly like Fritz or ourselves. A bit of a neutral Belgium, let's say."

"And root out the nearest HQ, fill them in, and we're done. Then, back to fighting this war on our own side. Unless they hire us as intelligence..." Walter finished the plan.

"You maybe, but not me. Oh, I nearly forgot, they found this in your pocket. Your luck was in, mate. They didn't open it." Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown pile of wrinkled paper. A clear cut hole with a singed rim showed the passage of a bullet.

"Saved your neck."

Walter held the crumpled letter in his open palms before carefully easing the sheets apart. He gasped. Una! Her last letter, the one he'd saved until the very end. Just before the first wave went over, he'd read and savoured every word. Oh, God. And now she must think he was dead!

"You're lucky you have one," Matt nodded towards the remnants of the letter.

"You don't have a family? What about a girlfriend?"

"Nah! Never cared for anyone enough to do more than sleep with them," he grinned cheekily. "More fun that way, 'cept when every bloke but you gets a letter or a parcel. That really stinks."

"I'll bet," Walter nodded his head emphatically. They descended into silence.

"Well, we'd better get some sleep."

Matt nodded his brown head. "We gotta stick this out. Together."

Walter smiled as he slid under the thin blankets onto a concrete mattress. He liked the Australian. The latter too decided he'd struck it lucky again. The Canadian was smart, and a good bloke. Little did either of them know how much they would come to depend on one another in the coming months, nor how deep the bond of mateship would become as they struggled to escape the enemies clutches.

_A/N: extremest apologies that this is long in coming. Please tell me what you think and how you like my own addition of Matt (well I had to have at least one Aussie in there!) The service numbers, battalions etc are from two real men who fought in the First World War. John Gordon Blythe (Canadian) and James William Hillgrove, a brave Aussie soldier and my great great uncle, who gave his life for that of his mates. _

_Lest we forget and always keep faith,_

_A Forgotten One_


	19. A Guide to Escaping Germans

_Well here it is, the next chapter. I reckon we should send our soldier boys on their way _

_before showing a little more of Alice, Una and young Walter. So tell me how you like it, and thanks for all the reviews! They help enormously *grins*. _

A Guide to Escaping Germans

_13__th__ February, 1917. Somewhere behind enemy lines. _

The soldiers stood as still as they could without shivering too violently.

"Atten-shun!"

Their boots hit the frozen parade ground like the rattle of a machine gun.

Sighing, Matt whispered to Walter, "Ask them to open order march then inspect each one. And take it easy, they're only kids."

The platoon of newly trained soldiers waited nervously for the next order. It was not the harsh reprimand they had anticipated.

"Op-en order-march!" A stumbling confusion followed as khaki clad figures stepped in every direction but the right one, which varied between ranks. Now they were _really_ in for it. But again, they were wrong. The two lieutenants simply put their capped heads together once more. In hushed voices they made an executive decision.

"Four platoon, you have ten seconds to fall out and form a semi-circle over here. Move!" Matt gave a funny smile as the soldiers ran over like a bunch of school children at the end of lunch.

"Alright, you lot. You've been in training for about six weeks now and still, you can't keep in time. This is not acceptable. You will be going to the frontline tonight and I would at least like to see you move off like the proud German soldiers you are." Walter's tone was firm, but not harsh. The boys looked at him with a faint glow of respect in their eyes.

"So after a demonstration from your corporals, you will march around this parade ground until we hear no hint of machine guns except that of the enemy, not that he is around here anyway," Matt added. _(Now of course this was all said in German)_

Walter stood stiffly by the edge of the parade ground, keeping a watchful eye out for any faults. Square gaiting was common enough but most of that had been corrected now. He gave a chuckle as he thought of Matt, grinning as usual, giving the major more cheek than he could stand that morning. Then he frowned; Major Kohl, a skeptical and heavily anti-French and British officer, was becoming increasingly suspicious of him and Matt. He'd even gone so far as to try to trick them into speaking English as they usually would. But so far he'd failed in his attempts to blow their cover. His counter part, the ever jolly and patriotic Major von Klement, was quite fond of all his subordinates, Matt and Walter included. That was well enough too, because after a few glasses of schnapps and a good day's training, he was very amiable and obliging. Our two friends took full advantage of this and often took a ride on sunny afternoons, scouting the perimeters and plotting their escape, free from prying eyes.

Suddenly, Walter was startled from his reverie by the strong, aggressive voice of the company sergeant major. He was ordering the company to prepare to move out.

"Leutnant Blythe!"

Matt was running across the frozen lawn, coat flapping in the wind.

"If we're gunna make our move this is our only chance. Kohl's onto to us. He found fault in that file of yours. It was the photo that did it. Turns out the real Herr Blythe _was_ about forty at the time of his...misadventure," a grimace followed this last word. "Anyway, that bastard has persuaded von Klement to pose an inquiry into my origins and your previous service record. He's sure to catch us out. I don't look anything like a fifty year old lieutenant, even with this moustache. And you don't look a donkey past thirty, least of all a battle hardened Hun."

There was a tense pause.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Bloody hell! Where's my watch?" Walter emptied a battered grey calico bag for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes.

"Never mind your watch! Where's the schnapps?"

Walter replied with an angry growl of disapproval. "That's _all_ you ever think about, isn't it? Grog and girls."

"Alright, f**k this. Let's go!" They grabbed their bags and jerked open the door. The corridor was empty as they hastened their way down its winding bends.

Out in the stable, which was deserted except for a handful of tired looking horses, Walter stopped behind the large barn doors, leaving them open a chink; just enough to see if anyone was coming.

The horses nickered and tossed their heads as Matt led two of the fittest looking beasts from their warm boxes. Shaggy winter coats made them look prehistoric and their eyes rolled with excitement. They knew something was happening.

Clank! The heavy oak doors snapped shut. Walter cringed, hoping no one heard them. With much skill thanks to hours of practice, the horses were saddled.

"We gotta warm 'em up first," Matt murmured as they set off at a fast walk towards the figures milling at the gates of the base. Little did they know that someone had been watching them...

A young soldier stood shivering, staring blankly at the muddied snow beneath his cracked boots. Feathery horse feet suddenly trespassed his gaze, making him look up sharply. The officers sat high upon their steeds, caps drawn low over their eyes. He saluted clumsily. The first one nodded, almost completely hidden under a thick trench coat. With a wave of nausea, the reality of what was about to happen hit the boy like a tonne of bricks. This was it. Even the platoon commanders were coming, except horses wouldn't be of any use in the frontline. To tall for trenches that already make a man crouch. His head swirled and he doubled over and threw up.

"Where do you suppose they're off to?" a corporal muttered under his breath to his mate beside him.

"Obviously not where we're going," came the gruff reply.

"Silence!" the sharp yell of the CSM cut through the icy air.

"Go die." The corporal continued marching and cocked his head slightly as he watched the two officers on horse back slip noiselessly away into the growing darkness.

_A/N: Ah! Now we have progress. As to what will happen next, any suggestions?_

_Always keep faith_

_A Forgotten one_


	20. One Chance

One Chance

"Hey," a low murmur came through the darkness.

"What?" Walter whispered back in German.

"Are you ready?" the captain held an oil lamp in one hand, raised to his face. It gave him a sallow appearance in the dull yellow light. The dugout, well built of course (the Germans actually planned to stay for a bit where they were, so dug in well, unlike our silly side), and a small raid party of five or so men were gathered into its stuffy interior. With a nod of confirmation from his men, the officer snuffed the flame with his thumb and forefinger. _Hiss_.

This was their chance, their one and only chance. If it failed...

After separating from the rest of their company, Matt and Walter had ridden to an officer's post in some billets set up in the scattered remains of an old French town. Bunking down in an empty cellar that smelled quite strongly of death, but was empty of German soldiers, the two men snatched a few weary hours of sleep, the rumbling of the guns in the distant. Before the grey light of dawn reached the horizon, they were up and walking away from the town towards the noise of the frontline, on foot, because horses were useless in the mud. The deep rumble became more distinct; made up of whines and howls, piercing shrieks as the shells tore up the earth they landed on. Finally, after fourteen hours of exhausting periods of running and waiting, our friends made it to the communication trench leading on the front line. The artillery bombardment from the enemy lines opposite had ceased and the air hung with the stifling smell of cordite and blood. Raid parties were being sent to fix any holes in the wire.

_Squelch!_ Walter felt his hand plunge into a gooey mass of what he guessed was some poor soldier's bloated abdomen. Shaking his head in complete disgust, he followed on, only just able to keep what ever contents remained in his stomach down. The front seemed quiet in comparison to the wild roar of the big guns. It was difficult to keep close to the boots of the man in front of him, especially since every now and then the earth gave way beneath them, leaving the vile Somme mud to suck on its unfortunate victim.

Suddenly, a blinding red Verey light lit up the desolate expanse of No-man's Land so that it was as bright as day. Still as stone with one eye closed, that's the way it was done. The men froze with fear. A Lewis machine gun barked a few rounds into the night further down the line. Then, like a falling angel, the flare burned brightly and faded, plunging the front into darkness once more.

Walter felt a hand on his shoulder.

"There's a break in the wire twenty metres to the left. It's now or never, and for God's sake don't forget to whistle."

Matt and Walter waited until the other men had disappeared into the muddy darkness in front of them, before rising cautiously to their feet, and, crouching low, making a mad dash towards the break in the barbed wire entanglement. Wriggling like worms through the mud, they slipped and slid until a rather large shell hole swallowed them up. The unnerving staccato of a machine gun rattled over their heads. _Splosh! Pfft pfft pfft!_ Walter blinked as mud sprayed onto his face.

"Phew! That was a close one!" Matt lay next to his mate in the slimy mud. "But I reckon I'm layin' on someone."

Walter stifled a laugh at the thought of what Matt's face must have looked like when he discovered it wasn't only mud he was resting on.

Pausing momentarily, Walter whispered, "It's time. You whistle first. But we gotta be one hundred percent sure they know it's alright. Otherwise we'll be mown down like any other Fritz."

"Sarge! Wake up!" the urgent whisper of a sentry cut through the inky blackness.

"What's up Nipper?"

"There's someone out there. Listen!"

A long whistle floated over the parapet.

"One of ours, I'm sure of it. Give the reply-" but before the sentry could perform his duty, a face hidden in shadow popped over the crumbling lip of the trench. Then, with much cursing and growling, Matt and Walter rolled thankfully into the safety of their own trenches.

"Now look here, kid. Where not the Huns we look like," Matt stood up, whose silhouette looked fearfully like that of a German officer to the bewildered sentry.

"Even though we're dressed like them," Walter added sarcastically.

The sergeant sat bolt upright. "Good Lord! Matthew O'Connor! What in bloody's name are you doin' here?"

"We thought you was long gone!" the young sentry whispered excitedly.

"Will! Long time no see! How are you, mate?" Matt replied perhaps a little too loudly for the frontline trench.

And so the old friends fell into hushed conversation, catching up with all that the other had missed. During this time, Walter had quite promptly fallen asleep, utterly exhausted, cold and muddy, slumped against the fragmented wall of the trench. When Matt tried to rouse him at 'stand to' the next morning, he only received a hard punch on the jaw for being so impertinent. Didn't he know a man needed his sleep?

It was fortunate they were in a relatively quiet part of the lines. The shelling from the night before had been regulatory as was the stand to each morning and evening. Had it been a busier sector of the front line, plagued with ongoing raids and such the like, Walter could easily have fallen victim to the aggressive nature of trench warfare.

_Well there we have it...safe and sound (not really though). And what happens next, well, let's see if I can get this next chapter up quicker than this one came along! Just a quick note, some of the dates have been changed around because of my wild imagination. Sincerest apologies and always keep faith (through the muddle of my creation)_

_A Forgotten One_


	21. Enter Matt

Enter Matt

_Well, we seem to have come to a good place where yes, Matt has already 'entered' as such, but a decent introduction into the workings of this incorrigible Australian is needed. So, here goes..._

"What did the major want?" Matt questioned his mate as the flap of the dugout was lifted.

"Hmmnf," Walter grunted. "Asked me to spy."

"Spy? Have fun with that."

"Yeah. And translate anything that comes through. But basically try to get whatever I can out of Fritz when we catch him alive."

"Interrogation, eh?" Matt made a rasping noise as he took a gulp of cold tea. "Gah! Horrid stuff this watered down muck. Hey! Someone's put mud in my tea! Just you wait until I get my hands on him..." The irate Australian chucked his contaminated beverage over his shoulder and, with a grimace, focused his attention back on Walter, who was standing dejectedly in front him.

"Aw, c'mon. You'll be doing something real useful. I get to sit in a bloody sap for hours on end trying to catch a word over the roar of the guns. Bloody impossible, but that's what happens when you skip school I guess."

"But that's not the point," Walter muttered, "I don't know who I am anymore. They gave me a choice: go back to who you were or become someone you're not and do a great service to your country and the Empire."

"Empire my arse!" the Australian ejaculated. "Tommie was he? No good."

"Yes. He wasn't like that though. No. He was just so-" he struggled for words "So blunt and upfront about it. Guess I've been avoiding stuff like this all my life."

"Whadaya mean?"

"I didn't join up at first. I could've, but I was too afraid. War's horrible, and most people couldn't see that. The whole attitude to the war was wrong. Potting Huns, adventure, vent some anger out on men like yourself...none of it made sense. Besides, war is so ugly and definitely not glorious like everyone makes it out to be. Why would I want to be part of that?"

Matt was staring queerly at the other man. He seemed to be doubting something, dwelling on a thought that had not presented itself to him before now.

"Call me a coward because I was. I had no wish to have another man's blood on my hands. It was selfish and I'm ashamed of it. And to think I am still alive. God, why didn't I die? I don't deserve to still be alive. Not now and not ever." Here Walter broke down. The guilt of life weighed heavily upon his heart.

With a grunt Matt plopped himself down in the mud and sighed.

"The main thing is that you're here now. Life's not worth wasting while you got it. Live for the moment, that's what I say. Never much point thinkin' too far ahead. Wouldn't want to be disappointed if it all ended and you never got to have it after all."

They sat there for a long time, listening to the distant whine and bang of shells at the front. Every now and then one would land close by and the earthen walls of the dugout would shake with the impact.

"I used to see everything differently. Sunrise wasn't just the sun rising, it was the birth of a new day, filled with excitement and adventure. The world was beautiful, and good, everything was very good. Life had the bitter sweet taste of a departed dream. But now..." he shuddered, "Now everything is bloody and torn and ruined. There is not a skerrick of beauty left. It's all been blown apart or buried in mud. Horrible, grey mud, hiding bodies and God only knows what else. I wanted to die. You know that Matt? I didn't want to have to live with the horror of it all," he seemed disgusted by his words.

"Neither do any of us. Wouldn't mind copping it right now. Got nothin' to lose. No wife or kid or family...say, don't you have a girl? Never told me about her," he winked as he elbowed his friend, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Walter couldn't help but feel cheered by this statement. Then he frowned.

"I can't write to her though. No one's meant to know who I really am, in case someone finds me out. I'm still dead. Living dead," he shook his head sadly. "She's the loveliest girl in the world. Sweet and good and generous. And patient! God, I miss her."

"What's her name?" Matt asked, his tone betraying the slightest bit of jealousy.

"Una. She's got the nicest blue eyes you'll ever see. And raven black hair that's so long it touches her waist." Walter chuckled, "Jealous?"

"Yeah, I reckon. Sounds like a beauty. Care to share?"

"I should think not! If you dare to even-"

"Easy mate, I was only kidding," Matt looked a bit hurt by Walter's reaction.

"Has she got a sister?"

"Yep, but she belongs to Jem."

"Whose Jem? I don't know much about you Walt. And you don't know much about me. Funny that, after all we've been through."

"Well, I come from a well to do family in P.E Island, Prince Edward Island," Walter answered the other man's confused frown.

"Thought you said you were Canadian?" Matt said sceptically.

"I am. P.E Island is off the coast, on the side of the Atlantic."

"I never listened in geography," came the blunt reply.

"Surely you've looked at a map of the 'great British Empire' at least once in your life!" but on noticing the doubtful glance, Walter fairly laughed in disbelief, "Do you mean to tell me you don't even know where you are right now? You can't picture the European continent where you might lose your life for a country that isn't your own?"

"Alright alright, take it easy. I was in the back row when they showed us where Egypt was. And ever since I've kept my distance from the types who usually carry useless things like maps of the world around in their back pockets. What bloody good is a map of flamin' Africa gunna do in a hell hole like this? Ain't no mud over there, or if there is, it won't hold a pin to this!" Matt raised his boot, the sole of which was caked in a thick layer of Somme mud.

"Alright. I'll make you a deal. If you teach me how to be a soldier like yourself, I'll teach you what your own country looks like. Next time you see a flat bit of mud, I'll do a drawing, a nice sketch perhaps." Walter extended his left hand.

Shaking it vigorously, Matt grinned. "You just lack confidence that's all. No good having to pretend you're dead. But don't worry, I'll remind you that you're alive when you forget. A good pinch should do the trick."

"Humph! Just as long as you don't do it while I'm sleeping, as you have the annoying habit of doing. I swear, you don't sleep at all! And talk about a cat with nine lives! That shell blew up right next to you but you're still all in one piece. Say, aren't we meant to see the quarter master at some stage before we head back?"

With that, the two men rose, and bending over so as to avoid banging their heads on the low door way, left the relative safety of their dugout to enquire about some uniforms. After all, no one likes looking like the enemy when they're not!


	22. Business as Usual

Business as Usual

_March 15 1917, Grevillers, Somme Battlefields, France._

_The Germans are retreating back to the Hindenburg Line, a heavily fortified, well defended intricate network of trenches. The Australians took the abandoned and ruined town of Bapaume on 17__th__ March 1917. _

"Say Matt...hey, what are you doing?" Walter looked up from a pile of intercepted telegrams he'd been ordered to translate. Matt was busy rummaging through the pockets of Walter's great coat.

"Gunna start a game of two up. Wanna join? You must have a couple of bob somewhere-" a few shillings fell glinting onto the muddy ground inside the old cellar. "Gotcha!"

"And what about if I was going to use them, eh?" said indignantly.

"Sorry mate, but we gotta keep ourselves sane someway." Matt grinned and gave his mate a friendly punch on the arm.

"Humph! Where are we again?"

"Grey-grevi-grevills? I dunno, why you askin' me?" the Australian struggled with the foreign tongue.

"Grevillers. Thanks," he scratched the name onto the tops of a pile of telegrams.

"Reckon you speak French too, eh?" Matt queried. There was a note of frustration, envy even, that the former could be so diverse in the languages of the world.

"Yeah, a bit," came a distracted reply. Muttering, Walter continued to write notes on the papers that lay on the dirt by his feet. He had propped himself up on his pack, rifle by his side.

"Righto. Parade's in an hour," and with a scrabble of boots on gravel, Walter was left alone once more. In the distance, he could hear the Germans' artillery pounding yet another town to ruins, the low rumble a slight headache amid all the confusion of war.

Matt lay on the cold ground, listening to the pound of the big guns in the distance. He gave a sigh. Lucky it wasn't them this time round. Artillery was the biggest killer of them all. Shells churned the ground to mud, tore up forests, obliterated entire towns and decimated men.

Even with three rugs underneath them, and Walter's trousers that had gotten a soaking after he tripped and fell into a puddle, his body still ached with cold, right down to his very bones. The only warm thing he could sense was the warmth of-

"Shit." The moon cast an oblong of eerie white light on the dirt floor. Matt looked down at his hand. Wet, warm and sticky. "Walt! Wake up!" he whispered urgently.

"What is it? What, what's the matter?" in the dark Matt felt a hand touch his arm. He jumped. "Easy. Did you see someone? Hear something?"

"No. Not me. You."

"What the hell are you on about-"

"Oi! Shut up!" an angry voice protested in the dank expanse of the cellar.

"Yeah, what the f**k is this. Can't a bloke get some shut eye with out his own men waking him up?"

Walter grabbed Matt's outstretched hand. He turned it over. Nothing.

Sighing, he whispered, "There's no blood on it. It's all in your head. Just lay down here and get back to sleep, alright? We're moving off in the morning." Third time in a row this had happened. He was beginning to worry. Could he really be- no, not Matt. Never. It hadn't been that bad had it?

The Somme was renowned for its mud. Everywhere and through everything. Even the rats didn't like it. They'd been burying a large group of soldiers, now unrecognisable in the mud, who'd fallen in a circular fashion. Shell right in the middle it looked like. The force had shaken the breath from them as it got sucked down by the mud. He shuddered at the memory.

Grinning skulls, arms, legs with veins trailing from the joints that had once been attached to a living man. Bits of bone, scraps of uniform, a rifle, a helmet, a rusty bayonet, German perhaps. All buried in the mud like a dangerous cocktail of blood and misery. As they dug the grave, Walter and the rest of his platoon had discovered bodies, mangled and rotting, sheltered by the great grey expanse of the Somme. Soft and squashy, like 'camembert cheese'. If you pulled on the arms, or what was left of them, they had the tendency to detach themselves. Every couple of minutes another soldier would double over, retching, the ghastly smell of decaying remains overpowering all other senses.

But poor Matt, his luck had really been out that day. As he plunged his shovel into the mud, there was a definite crack, like breaking bones. White faced, he'd scooped off the top layer of sludge in front of him, only to reveal a bloated abdomen, guts spilling out the sides, the gruesome white of the dead man's spine glaring angrily at the stunned burial party. His lower half faced the ground, whilst his upper half, distorted nearly beyond recognition, faced heaven.

Staggering backwards in disgust and absolute horror, Matt had slipped, turned and fallen head first into a neat pile of body parts, all rotting and bloody.

Walter remembered dropping his shovel and lifting his unconscious friend from his landing place. Crouching down, he'd lifted Matt onto his shoulder, Jack (a seventeen year old boy from Oodnadatta) helping to prop the man so his head lay flat against Walter's back. He also recalled the salty warmth of his own blood as he bit his lip to stop himself from throwing up, the smell of the corpses covering Matt were that bad.

"God help us," he whispered, tucking the damp coat under him. "Let this war be over soon."

Crunch, crunch splosh! Walter looked down to see a man by the name of Red step in a puddle that looked deceptively shallow.

"Flamin' hell!" he swore, his face turning the same colour as his fiery hair that also matched his name.

The Canadian chuckled, and sighed. As he cast his steely grey eyes over the muddy potholed landscape, he felt a pang of regret. Their objective, the town of Bapaume, lay in front of them, shelled to within an inch of its life. Once German occupied, they were told to be extra careful until head quarters sounded the all clear. So far, the 30th Battalion had infiltrated only the eastern side. It was their job to clear the west.

Matt began whistling a tune the whole company was very familiar with, and because the major was with them, they chose to sing the slightly less...naughty version of it, let's just say.

**_Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?_**_  
_**_Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?_**_  
_**_Mademoiselle from Armentieres,_**_  
_**_She hasn't been kissed in forty years,_**_  
_**_Hinky, dinky, parley-voo._**

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_She got the Palm and the Croix de Guerre, for washing soldiers' underwear._

_Hinky__-dinky, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_You didn't have to know her long to know the reason men go wrong!_

_Hinky dinky, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_She'll do it for wine, she'll do it for rum, and sometimes for chocolate or chewing gum!_

_Hinky dinky, parlez-vous?_

It was at this point one of the men, Davo, loudly and openly cursed "those bloody Yanks" for taking their "sweet time" to join the war. There was a low rumble of discussion, but soon they were singing again, as forceful as ever.

_The Colonel got the Croix de Guerre, parlez-vous?_

_The Colonel got the Croix de Guerre, parlez-vous?_

_The Colonel got the Croix de Guerre, the son-of-a-gun was never there!_

_Hinky__ dinky, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_You might forget the gas and shell, but you'll never forget the Mademoiselle!_

_Hinky__ dinky, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?_

_Where are the girls who used to swarm about me in my uniform?_

_Hinky dinky, parlez-vous?_

(Just a few good ones...the song's called _Mademoiselle from Armentieres_ in case you didn't realise)

As they approached the town, a few soldiers waved to them in the distance. They looked so small and insignificant against the vast expanse of ruin and destruction. It was at that point Matt decided to sing again; the naughty version.

_Three German officers crossed the Rhine, parlez-vous?_

_Three German officers crossed the Rhine, parlez-vous?_

_Three German officers crossed the Rhine to fuck the women and drink the wine,_

_Hinky dinky, parlez-vous?_

"Corporal O'Connor! What is the meaning of this singing, eh?" The entire company halted to watch the sudden commotion. Matt faced the major, whose chest was puffed out like a proud goldfish. He looked disdainfully at the man before him. Australians were trouble alright. Never could bring them into line, and this was another one of those especially unruly ones.

Cocking his head to one side, Matt said innocently, "Beg y'pardon, Sir, never knew it was a sin to sing."

"It's not. But what you were singing, although probably true, is not at all appropriate for a soldier of the British Army. Now when I was a young recruit-"

"Not a Tommie soldier, Sir. We're Australian. Seems to me what you just said doesn't apply to us."

"I _beg_ your pardon!" the officer spluttered.

"You said British, not Australian. Sorry, Sir. P'rhaps you should look over those maps of yours again, unless we used 'em as tinder." The men snickered.

Red faced, the major yelled to his own private contingent of obedient Tommie soldiers to check the saddle bags on the mule, to make sure none of the maps inside had been burnt. They were all there; untouched and in tip top condition. None had been burned...well, this time anyway.

"Alright boys, move in," Walter waved his hand forward.

After being billeted in the cleared sector of the village, the 23rd Battalion were on the move again, this time to clear the west, then follow through to the north, before rejoining back in the north east. They had orders to use grenades to "tidy up" any spots that might still house Germans. No one was to fire; bayonets only.

Feet clad in heavy boots clattered down the remains of a stone staircase that led into what was once a marvellous cellar. In one corner lay a pile of wooden beams...suspiciously placed. Walter was just about to warn his men of the possibility that something was hidden beneath it, when an almighty roar shook the earth around them. What followed was a mixture of blood, dirt and confusion. He heard one man cry out in agony and another curse 'the bastard Hun'.

"The bastards left a mine under it!"

"My leg, my leg, they got me-"

"Where's Jeff? Jeff! Are you here mate?"

"Jamie! F**king look at me! No, no oh God please no."

Staggering to his feet, Walter felt the room sway and his ears echo the vibration of the exploding mine.

"Corporal! Easy mate, you'll be right," strong hands lowered him gently to the ground. Something wet dripped down his cheek and he tasted salt on his lips. Then the ringing became too much and with a gentle sigh he blacked out, deaf to the screams of agony around him.

_A/N: well, our boys are now deeply entrenched once more in this stupid war *rages about futility of trench warfare*. Tell what you think, because it's 1917 and Passchendaele is coming up fast...yep, that's right, more blood and guts and toil. _


	23. Passchendaele

Passchendaele

_Battle of Broodseinde Ridge, 4__th__ October, 1917._

Walter groaned as he shifted his weight from his left boot to his right. It was still raining and had been since the previous night. Drip, drip, drip. The incessant splash of water drops on the clay sandbags was maddening. This was only made worse by the sick feeling in his gut that each drop of water was one closer to meeting Death.

The sky above was a moody grey, mirroring the churned mud of the battlefields below. The Third Battle of Ypres (or the Battle of Passchendaele) was well under way: had been well under way since July. Casualties had been enormous and it seemed once again that no matter how hard either side tried, the soldiers found it nigh impossible to wage a war of movement through the sea of mud. Grey, clinging to everything, dull and lifeless. A man could not escape its slimy clutches. Indeed, men had been known to simply disappear into its mysterious depths. Horses even, and whole carts of supplies were pulled under, never to be seen again.

Matt shuddered as he woke. Sleep came in short fitful bouts, mainly due to the impending danger of the attack to come, but also because of the intense cold felt by all. He could still hear the desperate screams of the horses as they floundered in the mud. Men all around had rushed to aid the driver and his mate who were trying in vain to save their beasts from a death most horrible. But the cart had been too heavy, and before long the air was once again filled with an eerie silence.

There were the mules too, at the resupply depot, whose shrill cries would haunt him til his dying day. Wild with fear, they'd run about while the bombardment continued, many with their entrails tangled around their legs, tripping them up and forcing from their throats another hoarse cry of agony. It had only lasted ten minutes, but as the men had emerged from the safety of some makeshift trenches, they saw the damage that had been inflicted. All supplies shattered into useless pieces of junk, scattered all over what had once been a busy maze of organised madness. On the ground nearby an obliterated copse of pines had laid several beasts, writhing and screaming with pain. Without thinking, Matt had loaded his rifle and taken aim. The hard wooden butt of the weapon had slammed into his shoulder as he put the last animal out of its misery. There were tears of anger in his brown eyes.

Meanwhile Walter had struggled to hold down a man who'd had his both legs blown off. The stumps had seethed angry red as his pitiful cries filled the acrid air. He could still smell the familiar scent of cordite fumes and fresh blood. The Australian opened his eyes and looked up, hoping to be relieved from his nightmares. He only heard the man standing above give a dry cough.

Suddenly the whole earth trembled as a volley of shells slammed into the mud around them. _Whizz-BANG!_ Roar after deafening roar. The enemy had also decided to spring an attack it seemed. Stand to! was yelled as men struggled to their feet, some only to be blown back by the violent explosion of a shell. Men cursed and swore, cowering in the earth in a desperate attempt to survive. But still it continued.

"'Scuse us," a burly soldier with a red cross on his arm muttered, a wounded soldier across his shoulders. The fellow was nothing more than a boy, his thin face covered in an unsightly mixture of blood and mud. But despite his injury, he smiled. Walter shook his head. The German bombardment was over and there's had begun. Once again the tired old world shook under the force of the screaming shells. Bit by bit, wounded and insane men had been cleared from the trench, leaving some sections with only one man alive and well.

"Well get those nasty bastards," an angry Kiwi muttered to himself.

"Don't worry, Bert. My bayonet's nice and sharp an' so's yours. The Hun'll wish they'd never been born."

Walter glanced uneasily at the knife atop his rifle. It was long, sharp and had never been used. Somehow, he hoped he wouldn't have to use it today...

"Oh shit!"

"No bloody way."

"That's ridiculous," Walter murmured, seeing grey figures emerging from the screen of dust and smoke.

Their troops were advancing...but so were the Germans.

"Alright, boys. Let's give 'em hell!" and with a roar the men charged, bayonets fixed and sharp.

Before him, Walter saw a New Zealand soldier stabbed through the stomach by a very irate German soldier. With a sudden surge of rage and vengeful desire, he leapt forward and within five paces was face to face with the oppressor. A sharp edge grazed his knuckles as he forced the man backwards with the body of his rifle. The other man's breath was warm on his cheek as he pushed upwards, flinging the pointed knife into his enemy's face. A scream of agony and the man doubled over, his face covered in blood, fingers searching the hole were his right eye had once been.

Disgusted, Walter turned away and ran to follow the rapidly advancing line of the Allies.

"Ahhhh!" an enormous grey clad figure rose from an embankment to Matt's left before being riddled with a round of bullets. They were doing alright so far. After the Germans (who'd also planned to attack) had seen the size of the enemy forces, a quick retreat had been put in order. It didn't stop some, though, from hiding in shell holes until some unfortunate Anzac was unlucky enough to come too close.

"Oi Jimmy. Let's get rid of that bunker over there," he pointed his bayonet in the direction of an enormous concrete block house to his right. "Reckon we can pot a few if we take it from behind."

"Well, if you're sure. We ain't got no grenades though," the other man sounded doubtful.

"It'll be right. I've got a plan." Matt grinned as his body shook from nervous excitement. The thrill of blood lust was pulsing out of control.

Leaping from one muddy shell hole to the next, Matt and his mate recruited a few more volunteers eager to help in the capture and destruction of the German pill box on the gentle rise before them. Miraculously, they reached their first objective, a low wall of rotting timber that would give cover as well as concealment from prying eyes.

"Shall we, Corp?" an older man asked politely. There were a few chuckles at the irony of his words.

"Lead the way, cobber." Squinting, Matt peered ahead at the sullied back of the bunker. There was no noise coming from it, and no movement could be detected around the narrow opening that served as a door.

Shuffling and squelching the men rose to their feet. Tip toeing, rifle in hand (though one man held only a spade, one edge sharpened like a bread knife), the small party approached the bunker with trepidation. It was very risky to take such a fortified position without cover fire from the Lewis guns. Suddenly, a noise like a million fire crackers shredded the quiet. The Germans had seen them coming and had waited until they were close enough to gun them down!

"Bloody hell on all Kitchener's knickers," Matt cursed softly into the mud. Not one twitch, otherwise they'd all be goners.

Raising his eyes, Matt looked fearfully around him. No one was moving.

"Fuck really? Strewth." He was alone. Every other soldier from the party of five had a bullet through his head or gut. They lay torn and mangled like a child's broken toys around him.

Well I'm not gunna let Fritz get away with this one, that's for sure, he vowed silently. A click told him there was at least one machine gun still waiting to meet him that morning.

Wriggling like a mud worm, the Australian made his way closer to the bunker. A few times the machine gun's bullets sent mud flying his way. But for the most part, he was on top in this deadly game of cat and mouse. Just a few more yards and-

Matt was cut short by a sudden rapid burst of machine gun fire. Lewis gun fire. The boys from the second wave were coming! With a new surge of confidence, he leapt to his feet and with one all mighty yell ran towards the open doorway of the bunker, bayonet flashing. Now had one been watching omnisciently, they would have seen the tall strong figure of an Australian soldier leaping nimbly over a treacherous, shell holed landscape, brandishing a 17" or so long blade of cold, hard steel at the muzzle of a German machine gun, capable of firing 8 bullets per second. Madness? No, just another brave digger doing his duty, and nabbing a rather simple gunner in the chest while he's at it.

Wiping the sword like instrument on his trouser leg, Matt looked up and grinned. He waved his rifle so the progressing Anzacs could see that the bunker had been captured. In a moment of egotistical achievement, he'd climbed rather foolishly onto the roof of the pill box, and now stood there attracting the attention of every watching German for miles around.

"Get down you capital ninny!" a sergeant roared. "Next thing Jerry'll think we're surrendering!"

"Surrender be damned!" the Australian yelled, with the spirit of Ned Kelly in his soul. But he jumped down anyway, into the soft mud below. And lucky too; a round of bullets ripped into the area he'd just been standing on. With a wild cackle he rushed forward, following the khaki figures disappearing over the rise, still brandishing his bloody bayonet like a token of victory.

Walter peered from over the top of his stone wall. It was a relief the attack was actually going somewhere. Usually the mud was the be all and end all for the soldiers of both sides. They were nearly to their objective. The general's 'bite and hold tactics' were working well. The first wave had successfully captured the German front trenches, and the second wave had taken hundreds of prisoners. There were so many that the Allies had used a few to carry stretches. "Might as well use 'em if you've got 'em," a perceptive soldier had remarked, jabbing his bayonet into the back of a disgruntled German.

And now their third wave, the final advance, was edging its way forward.

Abruptly, he came across two men wrestling, as it seemed, to the death. The German was on top, his jack knife clenched in a cruel smile. And with a sudden pang of nausea, Walter recognised the unlucky victim as none other than Matt.

"Matt!" he yelled just as his mate let out a strangled cry of alarm. The German had taken a wild stab and had fortunately missed his desired objective; his opponents chest. But now the Australian writhed in pain, trying to clutch what seemed to be his left forearm.

In a sudden surge of desperation to preserve a life, Walter vaulted over the stone wall and legged it over to where Matt lay at the mercy of the vengeful German (he was carefully preparing himself to slit his victim's throat).

"Arghh! Take that you filthy German bastard!" Walter's bayonet twisted cruelly in the screaming soldier's back, leaving a malicious and fatal wound for the enemy to contend with. A fierce kick in the ribs sent the German sprawling.

"Matt, shit. Somebody get the stretcher bearers over here!" Four soldiers of Walter's company had come over to assist.

A big burly fellow affectionately known to all as Bruce gently lifted an unconscious Matthew onto his shoulders.

"I'll take 'im back," he said gruffly.

"Then I'm coming with you," Walter promptly replied.

"No, mate. Your lance jack is dead. German sniper got 'im."

"Alright then you lot, let's catch up to the rest. Keep your eyes open for any of these miserable bastards. Bound to be some hiding somewhere up ahead," he waved carelessly in the direction of the groaning German, his voice thick with contempt.

He nearly made a crude remark to the dying man about how they were going to smash him and his mates and his country until there was nothing left, but a sudden pang of pity kept his mouth shut. Cocking his rifle, he raised it to his shoulder, took aim, and walked away, rifle reloaded, the German lying sprawled with a bullet through his forehead.

Oh how he _loathed_ this dirty game that was war!

Meanwhile Matt and his rescuer made it nearly in one piece back to the Australian frontline. All around them was a frenzy of excitement as supplies and men were rushed to and fro, to keep the attack going. So far so good, it seemed. With a bandage around his forearm to stop the bleeding, but still knocked out cold, Matt was hoisted onto a stretcher to be taken to the nearest casualty clearing station.

_A/N: a bit delayed but the world is a very busy place. Feed back is always welcome. This will hopefully lead to a bit of a different next chapter...one where we will see our lovely nurse Alice make an appearance (yes she was training to be one, if I remember rightly!)_

_Always keep faith _


	24. Somewhere in France

Somewhere in France

"Nurse! My cobber here'll need to see the doc. Don't worry about me. I'll be right. But he's in a real bad way."

Whilst the soldier fretted nervously about the fate of his mate, one look at the fellow told Alice there was no hope. His stomach was a mess of blood, dirt and shiny grey tubes. Not to mention the burns that covered his face and hands. Mustard gas, Alice made herself a mental note.

The cold wind whipped cruelly against her face as she peered through the darkness at the long line of ambulances coming in from the front, a glowering tiger, growling every now and again as the war raged on through the night. For this was a casualty clearing station and Alice, too, was at war. A battle against infection and sickness, a desperate race against time. One had to live for the moment and dissolve oneself in it entirely.

During her stay in England, Alice had been sure to make the most of her time in Queen Victoria's Hospital. It was where major surgical operations took place, and where doctors of all backgrounds gathered and debated over procedures that were in their infancy, like facial reconstructions. A nasty and morbid place, with dreary yellowish grey walls, where screams could be heard plainly from the mental hospital next door at all hours of the day. Haunted cries, desperate to see the light that was absent from their dismal existences.

A myriad of nightmarish images flashed before her eyes: jaws blown off, legs mangled, arms torn from their sockets and bodies distorted from their injuries. And mothers, sisters, sweethearts sobbing and weeping over the sad fate that had befallen their men.

A startled sob removed Alice from her reverie. The soldier who had tried so hard to look out for his injured comrade now cried over the dead body. With a gasp, she saw the poor man had a huge hole in his back between his shoulders blades, and he hadn't even noticed!

"Come now soldier. The doc'll be ready to see you soon. Just sit here and pop this round around you, there. We'll look after you now, so just sit and have a rest, that's the way." Alice had soothed countless numbers of soldiers in this way, reassuring them it was all under control. When really many men who could been saved died from cold and exposure, or simply the fact that there were too many of them, and the doctors could only help so many before it was too late.

Why oh why did men insist on war?

"Saw please," the surgeon muttered, and Alice handed him the dreaded instrument, its teeth grinning cruelly.

It was over quickly and before long the stump was neatly bandaged and the next patient was laid on the table. Alice paused to wipe the sweat from her brow; the air was cool but fear and disgust made her perspire.

Her veil was filthy and her dress soaked in blood. Dirt and what matter of other things stuck fast under her stubby finger nails, on hands that were worn and calloused from rubbing them and washing them over and over with caustic soap in scalding water.

"I won't let you do it! No! You can't please not my legs anything else but not my legs, please!" the boy screamed and pleaded as two orderlies struggled to hold him down.

"Anaesthetic please, Nurse," the surgeon cast his sad grey eyes on the legs of his thrashing patient, or what was left of them; a mangled heap of splintered bones and torn tendons.

"No! Please not my legs. You can't, LET ME GO!" with a violent shove the boy sat up and made a move to scramble off the table.

"God have mercy," the surgeon muttered dragging the boy back down as the orderlies struggled to their feet. He pushed his blood spattered spectacles onto his nose with a heavy sigh.

Alice stared at the boy, lying panting and exhausted before her with a look of utter defeat in his blue eyes. She raised the cloth in her hand and he immediately resumed his bitter struggle, screaming and yelling as though possessed. Catching her eye, he whispered urgently, "Please Nurse. I'm sixteen. A stockman. Can't ride a horse without me pegs _(not a spelling mistake...Aussie slang for legs)_. Please, I'm sorry I lied, but they all went-" he gasped and continued feverishly, "I had to. Need me legs. What'll Dad say, an' Uncle Jo..." his voice trailed off on a wave of pain.

Abruptly, she faltered. The bottle of chloroform shook in her usually steady hand.

"Nurse now please."

Biting her lip to stop the bile rising in her throat, she placed the cloth over the desperate cries ensuing from the boy's mouth. Drip, drip, drip. His yells became muffled as she drowned, knowingly, the last shreds of hope that his short existence had given him, into a rough and uncertain darkness, so that when he saw light once more, the shock and pain and horror of life would slap him back to reality with superhuman force.

The station had resumed its regular flow of mad, sick and wounded men by the morning, and the rutted road bore the only signs of last night's horror. After three hours of restless sleep Alice sat stiffly in the sunshine on a crate, holding a mug of lukewarm tea in her frail hands. She was indulging in a rare bit of freedom from the monotonous routine of cut, pull, drip that she was sure would haunt her til her dying day. Cut the cloth, pull it off, drip on some iodine.

"You know, my dear, I really think that when this is all over, I shall hardly know what to do with myself."

Alice smiled before replying, "Why, you shall marry one of the hundreds of dashingly handsome officers that have seen your beautiful face. They'll all come looking for you once this madness is over." Her companion, Mirabel by name, came from a wealthy upper class family in central London. It was quite comical to hear her speak to soldiers with accents that you could hardly tell were English in her deliberate, accented tones and upper class intonations.

"Yes, and have five children and a lovely big house with lots of flowers in the garden and lots of parties and dresses all because I must be the best wife I can for the lucky bastard who marries me!" she ejaculated.

Alice laughed despite her exhaustion.

"Or you could marry a sweet farmer who loves his country and will never be rich but will kiss you every night before bed and tell you how much he loves you and your beautiful children-"

"- before making love to me in a bed with a mattress as hard as a rock but that won't matter in the least because our love will give us all the comfort we need," Mirabel finished decisively.

"Yes, or that." Alice cast a wistful eye over the rows of lonely crosses that made up the graveyard. "You know, sometimes I long for it all to just end and for this whole stupid war to fade away into a bad dream so I could go back to my simple life as a nurse in London, caring for old people with aching backs and knees and feet..."

"And dances with young men. My God, do you know how much I miss that?"

"Miss what? Scrubbing bed pans or dancing with handsome men?"

"Oh more than dancing! Have you been kissed? No, that's a ridiculous question _of course _you have. There really is _nothing_ like being held in a pair of strong arms..."

"I've done more than kissing," Alice said wryly.

"Oh _do_ tell!"

"No, that is something I would rather forget."

"But you liked it at the time," Mirabel insisted.

"Wouldn't you? Of course I did. And I guess I would like it to all happen again, with someone who wasn't such a half-wit and a good for nothing-"

"-son of a bitch. Yes," the former interrupted. "Darling, I think I really ought to do something before my mind gets carried away on fancies that would _never_ happen in a _million_ years out here in this wasteland," she waved a hand at the muddy fields.

"Like what?"

"If I could have _anything_ now it would be an undignified snog with some _gorgeous_ colonial boy, like the one that grinned so cheekily at us yesterday, to wake me up from this _shocking_ dream that I _can't_ seem to escape."

Alice laughed gently as Mirabel strode away, turning her gaze back towards the makeshift graveyard.

She started as her eyes rested on a lone figure, pacing between the rows of crosses, head bent as though searching for something or someone. Curious, she rose to see who it was.

As she approached, he stopped in front of one cross atop a freshly dug grave. His left arm was in a sling and his right hand was shoved in the pocket of his trousers. A dying butt hung from the corner of his mouth.

Then, unexpectedly, Alice found herself staring into the clear brown eyes of the soldier. Plucking the butt from his lip he flicked it over his shoulder and crushed it with the heel of his boot into the mud in a movement of effortless grace. He smiled. No, grinned; a cheeky lopsided affair that gave his already handsome face a look of irresistible attractiveness. She couldn't stop the blood that rose to her cheeks under his steady gaze.

"'Morning."

"Good morning soldier," she replied in her best nurse voice; crisp but kindly.

His brows knotted together in confusion.

"Thought the Yanks were still at home," he said grimly.

"They are. I'm Canadian," she replied stiffly, aware of the sudden tension ensuing from his manner.

He relaxed and said amiably, "Oh, well then, that's good to know. Your boys're doing a mighty fine job out there. Not like the Yanks that aren't fair dinkum. Don't call sitting at home fighting a war."

(Now to give you an idea of what the soldier sounds like it would be something like this. _Oh, well then, that's good t' know. Your boys're doin' a migh'y fine job ou' there. Not like the Yanks tha' aren't fair dinkum. Don't call sittin' at 'ome fightin' a war._ A bit wacky but hey, that's how your kangaroo friends talk *wink wink*)

"Can you take a look at it?" he gestured to his left arm.

Alice came and stood beside him and gently slipped his arm out of its sling. It was a small cut; "chopped with a bayonet" was how he described it.

"It's not a Blighty but I have a mighty big bruise on my head so I reckon I got knocked out."

"Concussion too, most likely," Alice murmured, unwrapping the bandage.

The soldier's faded jacket hung loosely on his broad shoulders and the rising sun on his uniform and hat showed he was Australian. As she proceeded to inspect his wound, she became acutely aware of the fact that he was watching her, his breath warm on her cheek. She blushed as her conversation with Mirabel flashed through her mind, but she couldn't help it. A strong desire to be held once again by a member of the opposite sex surged through her. If they'd been on leave not out here in the Ypres salient...

Scandalised by her own thoughts, Alice scrunched up her face in a look of concentration. She succeeded only in producing the effect of a rather pretty pout, which the soldier could not ignore.

"I'll get you some iodine and a clean bandage," she said abruptly, pulling away. She had very nearly give in to her desires, but the consequences should they be caught in the act were dire. Head quarters would show no mercy.

The wind failed to cool her cheeks as she strode towards the calico tents that made up the CCS. And had Alice known the thoughts that had been running through the soldier's mind, she would have been properly mortified. Not because they were that bad, or dirty, but more than she would be inclined to agree with them!

Splosh! A bucket of dirty water was emptied by a rather weary Alice onto an even more war weary ground. Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong hands clutch her waist and before she knew what had happened, she felt rough lips touch her own softer ones. She took a peek and realised it was the handsome Australian she had not been able to take her mind off. For a few moments they locked lips hungrily, until Alice pulled away and stared into a pair of lusting brown eyes.

"Sorry." He grinned and made a move to kiss her again.

"No, I mean- I'd hate us to get caught," she blushed.

"It's been a long time. There is no life out there. Only rats and lice; everyone else acts like death warmed up," he shuddered at the memory.

A painful thud from her heart told Alice what she should do. Reaching up she kissed the soldier gently. Then the nurse said, "Good luck."

Releasing her, he said reluctantly, "How did I know you were going to say that?"

She shrugged, and coughed to disguise a sob that rose in her throat.

"I can't stay out here when I don't need to. Fritz hasn't finished so neither have I. But you can't tell 'em. Please," he looked at her seriously.

"Of course not. Be careful." Alice waved weakly as he retreated across the fields towards the roaring frontline, a picture of the beautiful Canadian nurse in his heart.

It slipped out before she could stop it. It was as though her heart had ached so much it had found its voice in an effort to alleviate the intense suffering it endured.

"Come back to me."

The nurse turned, hoping the soldier hadn't heard. But he had. And for years afterwards, in war and then through the times of peace that followed, Matthew O'Connor carried that plea in his beating heart along with the image he held of her, wishing fervently that he could.

_A/N: Ahhhh yes I know! Clichéd but I really couldn't resist. I mean, where is the love amongst all the death? There._

_Always keep faith and if you haven't taken up the hints well you should have seen it coming *winks*. I know ANF did!_


	25. Soldiering On

Soldiering On

_Sorry guys, long time no nothing eh? Well, imma busy woman so yeah... anyway, just getting the war over and done with. Tying together all the loose knots and maybe even filling some of the many thousand narrative gaps I probably so annoyingly have made! ;) hope you all enjoy : D_

_A wet dreary town in northern France..._

"Whoop dee bloody doo," Matt groaned, staring dismally at the can in front of him. "Bloody bully beef you'd think the bloody top brass'd figure we hate the stuff by now. Besides, as if there are any cows left with all these mouths to feed."

"Hmmnf," Walter sat next to his friend and grunted in reply. He was busy stuffing his blanket back into his kit bag whilst trying to stop his helmet from slipping off his head _and_ clenching a cigarette with his teeth. Multi-tasking, what a skill to have!

"Well, least we're not stuck facing Fritz this time. No more Christmas footy games thanks to Doug and his lot!" another soldier added pointedly.

"Who in Christ's name is Doug, Blue?"

"Sir Douglas Haig," Walter answered the question, then putting on a false British accent continued, "Commander in Chief of you filthy scum." He fixed a false monocle to his right eye and standing up began to strut about the room, rather like a proud peacock. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be planning my next act of skilful suicide to save you lads the bother of doing it yourselves."

Wry laughter filled the small barn, which had been taken over by the British Army to be used as a billet. But within the laughs and chuckles were threaded curses of hate. No man could quickly forget the muddy bloody horrors of the battles that had finally led to the capture of Passchendaele.

"Merry Christmas boys!" an officer yelled, coming in with a bottle of rum. "Don't waste a single drop of this or I'll deny Fritz the honour of killing you myself!"

This introduction was met by roars of appreciation and general support.

"Ah, nothing like a bit of fancy plonk to warm the heart," Matt sighed, leaning back on his kit bag. Walter chuckled and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

"Fancy? Champagne, you uneducated swine, is fancy. Not army ration rum!"

_Étaples__, December 1917_

Alice shivered as she peeled back the layers of yellow, sodden cotton from her bony body. The small wooden tub before her was filled, amazingly, with steaming hot water. Across the room from her, Mirabel, now sallow faced after months of work without rest, did the same. They stood there in their petticoats, hardly knowing what to do.

"Oh bugger it Alice," Mirabel ejaculated suddenly. She ripped off her yellowed garment and tossed it to one side. Then bending down she scooped up the steamy water and splashed her face with it.

"Nothing matters anymore anyway. War reduces everyone to nothing better than a starving animal," Mirabel began wiping her shivering form with a rough cloth. She passed the soap to Alice, who copied her.

Alice shivered. "It's all such a dreadful waste."

"I know. All those men and women and children, now lost because of this bloody war!"

"Don't sit, Bel. Can't waste hot water anytime," Alice said wryly.

With a sigh, the other woman proceeded to wash the short brown hair that covered her head. They had all cropped their hair. It wasn't worth the lice. The horrible little blood-sucking creatures inhabited every crevice of your existence. And they were quite loyal; not even a bath could keep them entirely at bay. However, the feeling was certainly not mutual. But even that was not enough to dissuade them from coming back with their entire extended lousy families.

After the two women had made every possible use of the hot water and soap they'd been given, they climbed into the same bed, for the icy coldness was not to be battled alone. And besides, as Mirabel pointed out, "The more blankets the better!"

"Gosh, no men'll want us now, that's for sure! No one likes a corpse!" Mirabel laughed bitterly.

"All skin and bones. I hope they feed the soldiers better than they feed us. Tea is hardly enough to change bandages, but to fight another man?" Alice shook her head.

"Well darling, here's to the future!" and much to the Alice's surprise, her companion pulled out a silver hip flask clad in a fancy leather case, to which the latter replied, "It's Christmas!"

Laughing, Alice accepted the gift readily. A warm glow spread from her stomach to the rest of her chilly body as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

_Well there we have it ladies and gentlemen... no not the end, but another chapter. Christmas 1917, the last war Christmas though they don't know it. Anyway, time to get on with 1918... I'm thinking straight to the juicy stuff... Ludendorff Spring Offensives then onto the capture of the Hindenburg Line, some angsty OH MY GOSH I HATE WAR soldier interaction involving ally and enemy alike, then we're all home and happy by 1919. THEN we have the AH MUST GET BACK TO NORMAL after it's all over and yeah. Got that? Great. Tata for now! and always keep faith _


	26. From the Other Side

_Sorry it has been such a damn long time in getting this up … bloody exams who invited them to the party? Ah well, enjoy the impending conclusion of WW1._

From the Other Side

_30__th__ July 1918_

_Dearest Mutti,_

_The end is nigh. I cannot begin to tell you how awful it has all been. Glorious victory? No, just damning defeat. Do not listen to them at home. They are lying! Everything they say is one giant filthy, dirty, unforgiveable lie! And I do not care if the powers that be censor this … you will know the truth._

_We were told the British and French were ready to give in … and so they may have been after the horrors of last year: the mud at Passchendaele and the senseless slaughter of thousands. Yes, I have no doubt they were more than ready to lay down their guns and go home. But they haven't, and won't, because of the Americans. These "Yankees", as I have heard some prisoners call them, are not tired and their guns are new, and they have full bellies and hearts filled with hope. And because of them our enemy, who is really no different to ourselves, is alive and kicking._

_Do you know, Mutti, that the Tommies are not starving at all? It seems our generals have once again deceived us! Us, who live on turnips and horse flesh! When we reached a certain town that the British had abandoned in their retreat, the cellars were full of meat and wine and bread. Not kriegsbrot, but real bread made with wheat instead of sawdust. My poor starving men fell upon these riches like vultures, and here we remain, because why should we go any further? Endure anymore suffering for what will just end up being for nought?_

_I do not know how much longer we will be able to stay here for. The men on the other side will no doubt be preparing to counterattack. But have no fear Mutti, we will fight to the bitter end. Not forwards, but backwards, over ground that only months ago we crossed running, believing the war was won once and for all. Retreat we may, but give up? Never! We will not let the Vaterland down, not now, not ever. _

_God bless you, your loving son, Friedrick._

Walter folded the letter and put it into his breast pocket. And, shaking his head as he did so, he lifted the German's limp body and slung it over his shoulders. Fight to the bitter end, eh? Well, he'd certainly done that! It was early October and winter was on the way. Surely there would be no point in continuing the war into next year? Especially now the Hindenburg Line had been breached by Allied troops only a week ago. After their offensives in Spring that year, the German Army was close to breaking point. From July onwards the Allies had been on the move, forwards, for the first time in four and half dreadful years.

"Whatcha doin' Corp?"

"What does it look like?"

"He's a Hun."

"Yes. What are you saying Johnson?" Walter glared at the boy. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, with a boyish face and fair hair that flopped over his eyes under his steel helmet.

"Well they're the enemy, right? So why're you -"

"The only enemy we have is ourselves. He's just a dead man, like Barney," Walter cut in sharply. The boy blanched at this sentence. Barney had been his best mate. He'd died only a week ago and they'd buried him in a mass grave with hundreds of other young men like him … mere boys, too young to die.

"Johnnie boy get y' arse over to the sergeant now or he'll have you for dinner." Matt grinned good naturedly at the boy then turned his attention to his friend. "Poor bugger. Wish our lieutenants were as good as him." He nodded his head at the dead German that Walter had added to the long line of corpses, most with their faces covered.

"Don't let Rossy hear you say that," Walter smiled sardonically. "He'll have you for dessert!" Ross was the company's sergeant major, and a scarier man they'd never met. He'd made a bold claim on the first day, saying he could kill a man with his eyes closed using only a soup spoon. And after spending a month with him in February that year, they'd never doubted a word he'd said since.

"Haha. Very funny mate. But seriously, did you see him? He was not your average Fritz that's for sure. Even with all his mates lying around him with their brains –"

"Yes thank you for that Matthew O'Connor but I've had enough of this bloody war without having you describe it to me."

Walter still despised the war as much as he'd ever had. But he'd hardened himself towards it. Ideas? What ideas? Unless you called mass murder a grand plan to save humanity from some monstrous foe then all this was one enormous bloody waste of everything. And it was nearly over, thank God. He didn't know how many more men he could kill in cold blood: slice open with a bayonet to reveal their guts or shoot in the head and have their brains splatter all over him.

But he was right. The man had been a formidable soldier. They'd been stuck behind a copse of trees for over two hours whilst this machine gun, manned by the said dead German lieutenant and three others, had kept their entire platoon pinned down. The first section that had decided to clear the machine gun nest had been promptly, and brutally, gunned down before anyone knew what had happened. Six had been killed straight out and the other four had been given a severe belting. No one had dared advance after that.

But after an hour their lieutenant had managed to dispatch a runner to send for a machine gun crew. That would allow the men to advance on the nest under covering fire. The men had laughed about it afterwards saying it was probably the single most intelligent thing that 20 year old Lt Mc Innes had done in his entire arrogant and useless existence. The man didn't have his nickname "Butcher Boy" for nothing. But even with their own covering fire, the next section sent to clear the nest had met a similar fate. After a third failed and bloody attempt, the machine gunners, with some assistance from the resident sniper of the platoon, Arnie, had killed the three gunners and wounded their leader. In a wave of fiery anger what remained of the platoon had stormed the nest and finally, after several more casualties, neutralised it. But the gunner, his right arm only attached to his body by a strip of bloody flesh, had kept firing his gun until he'd fainted from blood loss. Not once had he even raised his arms in surrender.

"Stop thinking about it." Matt fixed his hard brown eyes on Walter's moody grey ones. "You'll kill yourself."

If only you knew, Walter thought to himself. But no, he could never tell Matt he'd tried to top himself. That at the very last moment he'd thought he heard a child cry his name. And by the time he'd realised it had been all in his head, Johnson had come leaping and bounding down the stairs of the cellar and promptly enveloped him in a huge bear hug all the while telling his beloved corporal that he had finally received a letter from his mum. At the memory of it Walter couldn't help a smile pulling at his lips. The boy had saved his life, yes, he wondered if it had been punishment for taking so long to get his revolver loaded. Punishment for being a coward.

"Corporal O'Connor, this is not the time for a bloody chin wag get you're men and Blythe's up on that ridge now!" Ross roared. "And as for the rest of you, you're mates aren't going to move themselves. Get them onto the road and start walking. Blythe!" Ross turned his energy to Walter. "Take two soldiers with you and get this lot back to town. If any of them run, shoot them."

Walter trudged over to where about ten Germans sat by a stone wall, weary expressions on their faces. After supplanting the machine gun nest the previous day, their company along with a few others, including an American one, had taken a town which had been occupied by the Germans for most of the war. Well, had still been occupied up until yesterday evening when what had seemed like half the German army had raised their arms and shouted "Kamerade!" and collectively surrendered. Earlier that morning the bulk of the troops, over a hundred or so, had been taken to a large town nearby where they would join the rest of their German counterparts in a make shift prison camp. These ten were deemed to have temporary usefulness and so had remained behind.

As Walter approached, one of the men stood up. The Australians guarding them raised their bayonets.

"He's not going anywhere," Walter said, and the men lowered their rifles. Surprisingly, the German corporal gave a mirthless laugh.

"Of course I am not going anywhere. There is nowhere to go." He pronounced 'where' with a 'v'. "We are not as stupid as you think." His voice was thick with contempt.

"Tell your men to get on the road. If any of you run we'll shoot you," Walter stared the German squarely in the eyes.

"If you shoot any of my men I will kill your mother with my bare hands." Walter could not help but gulp. Never had he seen such loathing or fiery hatred in a man before. The other soldiers around had gone quiet and were listening intently. Walter turned around and gestured to the other soldiers to start moving towards the road.

"If any of you run we'll shoot you," he repeated calmly, in German this time. The grey clad soldiers rose and began to walk. Their leader, muttering a curse beneath his breath, followed.

_And that is that. The Germans, at the end of the war, were known to surrender in absurdly large numbers. Their families at home were starving, they were starving and they had lost all hope in an sort of success. By mid-October 1918, the German government had begun suing for peace. And after this point I don't think many Australian troops were on the frontline. Pretty sure most, after having participated in the final offensives, were given respite behind the lines and by the time their turn came again the war was over. Always keep faith._


	27. Back to the Land of the Maple Leaf

_I do not feel any great or pressing need to include too much about 1919 because I am not entirely sure what soldiers did for all those months whilst they waited to go home. Besides, I think it is high time I just got straight to the point. Home. And Una. And all the other unexpected surprises that lay in store ;)So now Walter and Matt and Alice are moving on, because the war has been over for nearly a year. Rough time approximations. Now it is probably early spring in 1920, because I reckon crossing the Atlantic in winter would be highly undesirable._

Back to the Land of the Maple Leaf

The ship was a large one, with huge funnels that belched black smoke. Before the war she had been an ocean liner, and then, after the Americans had joined the war in April 1917, she had been converted into a troopship.

"Blimey. Canada had better not be like bloody England or France." Matt was looking miserably at the grey sky above the equally grey ocean with much dismay at the possibility of more rain. "Why am I going there anyway? I feel I have been deceived." He narrowed his eyes and glared at Walter who stood beside him on the deck of the ship. They were both holding onto the metal railings as though their lives depended on it as the ship rolled and dipped on the stormy swell of the Atlantic.

"What am I going to bloody do if I find Una's gone and married some other bloke or has died, like everyone else it seems, of flu? I've sent her five million letters and she hasn't replied to a single one of them. I mean, she might have moved house but maybe not …" Walter looked back at Matt, who turned and said unhappily, "Well at least you can hope."

"There are plenty of girls around Matt, and if you really were looking for a wife I'm sure you'd find hundreds," he gave his mate a friendly punch. "Stop being gloomy anyway, we're nearly there."

"Sorry. Must be the weather." Suddenly Matt's expression brightened. "Say, did you see that nurse? Aw, she was awful pretty."

"Keep away from the nurses, my friend, you caused enough trouble during the war without needing to continue it afterwards," Walter said sarcastically. The other soldier pulled a face. "It's not like I've started any brawls –"

"—yet. You haven't started any brawls yet because you've been too busy moping about your lack of purpose in life when you know perfectly well you could go back to Australia and everything would –"

"—be dinky di yes." Matt finished Walter's sentence. "I don't know if I could bear to be alone now though. I'd be sure to top myself."

"Do that and I will come and raise you from the dead then kill you myself," Walter threatened. Matt sighed and went back to staring miserably out to sea. But he slung one arm around Walter's shoulders though and then leaned against the latter so that he laughed and had to give the other a rough shove to keep them from toppling overboard. Grinning, the two soldiers decided they'd had enough of the wind and went back below, into the bowels of the ship.

Alice sat in the mess, her cape around her thin shoulders, and stared hopelessly out the porthole window. Outside the sea was a mass of grey foaming fury, the wind lashing its surface into vicious peaks. It was all she could do to stop herself bursting into tears of misery. Mirabel, her cherished fellow nurse, who had been like a sister to her, had died a sudden and painful death from the flu she'd fought so hard against. Alice could still see her friend's limp, lifeless body as they carried it out into the field and buried it, shrouded in white, alongside hundreds of other soldiers, sailors and nurses who had fallen prey to that terrible disease. It was a memory she would take to her grave.

But she'd written to Una, who had said she must come and stay with her and little Walter. Aunt Liddy, too, had recently died from a combination of flu, old age and exhaustion. It was too much, Alice thought. And what was she to do once she was discharged anyway? More nursing?

The young woman sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. Once again, she turned her eyes out towards the grey sea outside.

_Well there we have some more angst. Oh so very angsty for all. This is going to be quite confusing and some things may not exactly match up very smoothly. But hey, it _is_ just a story… I do try but my memory is stretched as to what I thought might happen when I began it over two years ago! Always keep faith._


	28. New Beginnings

New Beginnings

Walter walked slowly towards the front door of his home, wondering who on earth could have sent him a telegram. Shaking his head, he opened the door and dumped his lesson books and lecture notes onto the table in the hallway. Shutting the door with his foot, he tore the envelope open.

COMING SOON STOP MATT

Matt? Of course. Brief and to the point. So he'd finally been discharged! The officers had found it difficult to understand why an Australian had come all the way to Canada and had decided it was a strange enough circumstance that they must investigate. And now he was on his way! Walter's heart felt lighter than it had since he'd first returned home after what seemed like a thousand years away from PEI. He missed his mate. Matt was the only one who really understood why he sometimes felt like a lead weight when he woke up in the morning. It wasn't Una's fault. But she just didn't understand what he'd been through, and how it had changed him irrevocably. He was more serious and not at all dreamy anymore. In fact, he wondered how he could have been so abstracted from reality for so long. It all seemed utterly ludicrous now. Despite this, he could still find some enjoyment in a nice Canadian sunset.

The said beloved mate turned up rather unexpectedly on a Saturday, just before the family were about to sit down to lunch. In a stroke of luck, and relief on Una's half, Alice had arrived the day before and had spent the night on the couch in the Blythe's living room. At the knock on the door, she rose to get it, Una and Walter being busy with a whining Walter Jr.

"Hello you're just –" my goodness she recognised those eyes! Alice stood dumbfounded at the door, her blue eyes staring blankly at the figure before her. No one had thought to tell her Matt had been coming. But worse than the fact that she vaguely remembered seeing him somewhere before was the blush that had suddenly risen, bright crimson, to her pale cheeks. She couldn't help but gawk for a few moments.

He was tall and broad shouldered with spikey brown hair and wild brown eyes that shone with an untameable mischievous light. His lopsided grin made her knees feel weak and her heart thump strangely as if it wanted to jump right out of her chest. He carried a kitbag over one shoulder and had the sleeves of his army issue shirt rolled up over a pair of strong brown fore arms. His slouch hat sat on his head at a rakish angle. She could feel her hormones start to go crazy just standing there. Oh my goodness me he's handsome! They were saying. Pull yourself together girl, Alice scolded herself mentally. But he's so good looking! Her hormones argued persuasively. Shut up!

"Australian." It was all that come out.

"Yeah. You're not Una are you?" Matt kept grinning at her, his eyes sweeping her figure.

Blushing Alice said quickly, "No I'm not. I suppose you'd better –" But she never finished her sentence.

"Matt!"

"Walter!"

The two men threw themselves at each other in a huge back slapping, hand shaking, excited yelling bear hug. Never had two people been so happy to see each other. The women could not help but smile. Una moved over to Alice as she watched Walter and Matt pound each other joyfully on the back. Alice gave her hand a squeeze.

"I understand how they feel," she whispered softly to Una. The night before the two women had sat up nearly all night talking and crying and hugging each other with the sheer joy of being reunited. It had been different, but the same. A friendship that strong demanded an emotional, or in the case of the men, somewhat rough and loud show of the strength of the bond shared.

Lying awake that night on the floor of the living room, Matt felt like he could nearly sleep. On the floor beside him, Walter lay asleep, occasionally murmuring something as he wrestled with the horrible memories that he had been dealt during the war. The two women were asleep upstairs, as it had seemed like the best arrangement for that night. Yet he couldn't sleep. No. Not with the sudden onset of desire he felt for a certain blond haired maiden.

Beautiful was an understatement. She was stunning. Gently waving hair, deep blue eyes and soft skin. He closed his eyes and smiled. He'd met many women in his time with soft skin, but none like her. And there were other aspects of her, of course, he could not deny he felt attracted to. If he could just kiss her once, on that smooth, white neck of hers … damn. Matt rolled over with a groan and closed his eyes. But what chance did he have, really? Although he was pretty sure he'd met her before, in somewhat unusual circumstances to be sure, but never the less … it was worth a try.

_Oh yeah now it's heating up! And we'll have a new baby along soon enough so it's all going to be enormously exciting! And I know, clichéd yeah whatever soldier nurse fall madly in love but hey who doesn't honestly love an adorable war love story? Always keep faith _


	29. Mistakes

Mistakes

"Walter what is it?" Una stood in front of her husband, twisting her apron nervously in her hands. "Why are you so…"

"So what?" he demanded sharply. He'd come in that evening and had sat straight down on the couch and had been reading his paper ever since, without saying a word.

"So quiet," she replied softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," her husband replied harshly.

"Why won't you tell me what's the matter? I'm your wife, aren't I?" Una shouted suddenly, all her pent up hurt and confusion flowing freely.

"Because you wouldn't understand!" Walter yelled back. "You weren't there and so you can't understand anything!"

Una, never one to fight, burst into tears.

"Do not do this to me," Walter said coldly.

"What?" his wife sobbed miserably.

"Expect me to be the same. I'm not the same and neither are you. So leave me alone. I don't want to talk about it ever!" He stood up and faced her, his grey eyes blazing angrily. "Not ever, Una. Don't ask me again."

And she didn't, not even when Walter woke up in the night sweating with irrational fear. She only calmed him and waited til his breathing slowed and he went back to sleep. Like so many other women of her time she could do nothing but carry on, wordlessly, supporting her husband who had been so torn apart by the war that only death could bring peace.

However, it soured their relationship for a time. Una could never bring herself to actually tell Walter she was pregnant again. He just found out. It became fairly obvious after a while. If truth be told, for the first few months after Walter returned Una felt unloved. Fortunately, things eventually got better. The awkwardness that proceeded the argument dissipated somewhat and was replaced by a mutual understanding that life must go on as it always had. Walter was usually fairly serious, and Una often found him frowning, a newspaper laid out in front of him, his grey eyes staring into the distance whilst he meditated on some thought or another. But he made the effort to smile at her, and occasionally tell her about something amusing one of his students had said in class that day.

"What are the politicians saying?" Una asked one day, somewhat timidly.

"Not much. Mostly just whining about everything and nothing," her husband replied.

"I suppose that's why we vote them in." At that Walter laughed. Relieved, Una smiled gently and for many weeks afterwards, especially with the birth of her second child, her heart felt lighter than it had for a long time.

He'd known her now for three months and Matt was pretty sure he was actually in love. Not just infatuated but head over heels in love. Even after he'd tried to kiss her after reminding her of their chance encounter in France, and her subsequent anger and refusal to talk to him, he had continued to fall for her. And quite heavily.

Matt had decided he should probably find himself a wife, considering he intended on returning to Australia and making himself a life on the land. It was always better to have a wife; not nice to come home to a cold, empty house with no dinner. And of course the only woman he could even consider marrying now was Alice. But she, it seemed, was not even the slightest bit interested. In fact, she rather held him in disdain, which amused him further. For Matthew O'Connor loved nothing better than to tease his lovely lady since she would not allow him to bestow any other form of affections on her.

It was quite a pity she didn't think he was serious. Because he was. And, deny it though he might as he mustered cattle by day on the district farms and wrestled haunting dreams by night, each time she shunned him it hurt. And that hurt grew. He loved her for so many reasons. At first it had been an almost uncontrollable sense of desire. Her soft lips, wide hips and the gentle curve of her flesh. His lust had been so great it had nearly driven him to insanity. Then admiration; she was an immensely capable and independent woman. And a wonderful nurse, for she was now working as an assistant midwife at the White Sands Hospital. But also because he could see a future in a woman like her: one that gave him hope of a better life when he got back to Australia. But that was a problem. That word, that country. If she wasn't even interested in him then what chance was there that she was going to want to move to the other side of the world and spend a good couple of decades in the middle of an inhospitable desert continent, having to cook and clean and do a myriad of other tasks for shearers, stockmen, children and anyone else who happened to pop buy; work that would burn her skin and leave her hot and tired every night in the interminable heat.

But he so desperately wanted to be loved, like the way Walter was. All his life Matt had been virtually unwanted, except as a worker, to be exploited and used, then shipped off once the job was done. Even his parents… but Matt could hardly bear to think about that part of his life. Yes, he was very envious of his mate; the wife, the house, the children, the peace and stability.

But Matt persisted in annoying her when he could. He would whistle at her as she walked past the pub on the way to the hospital on Monday nights. He knew that particularly "got her goat" because his mates often joined in too. And one night this went badly wrong.

Matt and his troop whistled as usual as the lovely nurse with the golden hair passed by the pub on the corner of William and King Streets on the eastern side of town. But this time she wasn't alone, and only too late did they realise this. The man accompanying her was tall and thin with a hooked nose and hard eyes. After saying a few words to Alice, they parted ways, the mysterious man towards the bar facing the street where the men sat.

"Evening gentlemen," he said in a smooth even voice.

"G'day." The men nodded and kept their eyes on their drinks. But Matt stared the man squarely in the eyes. Who the bloody hell was he and what did he think he was doing with his girl?

"I see you fancy my fiancée," the man continued, a sleazy grin plastering his face. A face grey like chiselled stone. A few of the men slurped on their drinks loudly in the ensuing silence. Suddenly, the whole bar had fallen silent. "You're a colonial, are you not?"

"Yeah and what the fuck's it to you?" He had to be lying. Fiancée? No, not possible.

"Oh, I heard you had a certain, ahem, reputation during the war, being from the colonies and all." This sentence was accompanied by a patronising smile of self-righteousness.

Matt downed the rest of his beer and rolled up his sleeves. He leaned forward over the bar and let the alcohol get to his head.

"A war you didn't go to, eh?"

"I –" But the man never got to finish his sentence for the next moment half the bar, which it should be noted was a popular place with ex-servicemen, was on top of him, giving him a dose of what they thought he deserved. Before long the street was awash with the yells and fights of a brawl and men from all over town came to join in the fun. The policemen were called soon enough to break it up, but three shops had been damaged and a few of the brawlers injured enough to have to be sent to hospital. At some point Matt remembered slamming his fist into his opponent's face and telling him to 'bugger off and leave my girl alone'. Although with his ego, and face, now sorely damaged, the man with a face of stone was not finished. No ex-colonial soldier was going to get the woman he'd decided to share a bed with for the rest of his existence.

It was rather unfortunate that Alice decided to confront Matt about his escapade whilst at dinner with the Blythes. She thought she had the moral high ground but evidently she was wrong.

"Why did you punch Robert the other night?" she asked coldly, taking a mouthful of roast beef (it was Sunday dinner).

Matt and Walter, who had simultaneously been each taking a forkful of peas, stopped dead in their tracks. The result being an awkward silence and some squashed green mush on the floor the next morning.

"I don't know what you're on about," was Matt carefully formulated answer.

Walter chuckled, "So you were a part of the brawl last week. I might have known."

"You didn't answer my question," Alice continued icily.

"Because I don't want to. You bloody know why I punched him. He's a good for nothing –" here Walter cleared his throat. Una was looking a little pale. "Sorry Una. I didn't think."

"No you did not! And clearly you still don't," Alice said hotly, rising to her feet. "How dare you think you have any right to decide who I see and who I don't. I've had enough of you men telling me how to live my life and thinking you control me."

"Alice if you wouldn't mind taking this outside," Una said stiffly, picking up an empty platter to take to the kitchen.

"And anyway you are in no place to judge Robert. He is a decent man with a proper job. If it weren't for surgeons like him many people wouldn't be alive today. How dare you think you're better than him! He couldn't go to the war because his mother was ill with cancer. If anything it was a sacrifice for him that he didn't go, because now he has to put up with people like you blaming him for something that was out of his control!"

"It was not out of his bloody control. Many much worthier men should be alive today instead of the likes of him. He's a coward; couldn't even hold his own."

"What would you know about worthiness? You are immoral and insensitive," Alice fumed.

"And you're foolish and ignorant to think that that man sees you as anything more than a girl he can – sleep with." Matt stopped himself from swearing just in time.

"You utter bastard!" Alice brought her hand hard across his face. "I never want to speak to you again. And I hope to God no woman ever marries you. You don't deserve to have anyone love you."

The barbs had been well aimed and hit their targets. Alice was infuriated and once again felt like an object of possession. Matt's chest simply ached like it never had before. The former, for a long time, remained openly hostile towards her opponent, but our Australian soldier bottled his hurt up inside of him, as he'd always done, and carried on. But it was nearly November, and Matt knew he had to make a decision soon. To stay in Canada, or to leave, and return to Australia.

_So Una and Walter are just soldiering on but Alice and Matt have had a total bitch fight. I always intended to put something in it like that. And yes, it was supposed to be particularly horrible, because life is not the leisurely boat ride some make it out to be. Especially after the Great War._

_But always keep faith this is not the end. Why, Una hasn't had all her children yet!_


	30. Reconciliation

Reconciliation

Una was sitting quietly, with her new baby boy cradled in her arms, rocking gently back and forth as she peered out the window at the rainy afternoon. He was only a day old and she was still raw. Presently, the front door opened and in a swirl of January blizzard Walter came in, white as a snowman.

"Do you want me to get more wood for the fire?"

"No. Matt came round and got some before. Sit down and take off your wet things." And, standing up with a slight wince of pain at the movement, she placed her unnamed baby on her rocking chair, swaddled in blankets.

"Sit down. I can look after myself," Walter smiled.

"I need to check the potatoes anyway," Una walked stiffly to the kitchen.

Walter picked up his son and settled himself in front of the open fire. When Una came back in he spoke:

"What'll we call him?"

"I - don't know… Matthew?" the mother replied uncertainly.

"No, he's not a Matthew."

"I like Jerry." Walter Jr was standing at the doorway to the living room. He had a determined look on his small face.

"Why Jerry, dear?" his mother questioned.

"Cause me mate's called Jerry, and I like him. We get the most chews when we climb together." The little boy walked over and peered at his younger brother. " 'Cept his name's really Jeremy. But his mum said it were too long when he were just a mite."

And so the baby came to be known as Jeremy Frederick Blythe. And a more mischievous boy than Jerry the town would never see.

Later that night, as the parents of the baby lay in their bed, they lay awake for a long time, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"Are you alright with him being called Jerry?"

"Of course, why shouldn't I be?"

"Well, Jerry being your brother and all." This sentence was accompanied by a sob from the former to whom it was directed.

Una buried her black head into her husband's chest and cried silently as they both desperately tried to keep away the cold that was biting at their hearts.

By March 1921, Jerry had grown considerably and spring, much to everyone's relief, was on the way. As Alice walked along the road one early morning on her way back from the hospital, she tried to decipher the empty feeling in her heart. As a midwife, or at the very least, an assistant one, she had the privilege of frequently witnessing the birth of a baby. And after a while it had begun to eat away at her, all these happy mothers and their sweet little babies, husbands looking adoringly on. Empty, as the whole world around her was simply bursting with new life. Flowers, new leaves, blossoms, soft green grass, chirping baby birds, and even little rabbits were popping up out of their burrows, their eyes big and brown and innocent. Even going to see little baby Jerry caused her some degree of heartbreak. For all her vehement feminism, she still had the inherently strong desire of so many of her sex to bear children of her own. Una told her she wasn't missing out on much, and Alice had to agree that the pain was probably something she could live without. But oh to have a baby of her own, to love and to cherish!

But more potent than this maternal desire was her regret at being so harsh on a particular former soldier. He'd never been at all nasty towards her, or scornful. Only dutifully respectful, tipping his hat if he passed her on the street. She rarely saw him now. Even Walter didn't see much of his friend. Apparently he had sought out a job further inland, managing a large breeding stud and helping to train some of the younger horses. He's always been a horseman, she recalled Walter saying one afternoon when she dropped in for afternoon tea up at the cottage at the Ridge. So was his father.

Alice knew little of this mysterious Australian's past. And she feared that she had judged him unjustly when she'd only known half of the story. Besides, she kept having dreams of being back in France, of seeing him bleeding and yelling in pain, his arm torn by a shell or his legs shattered by a machine gun. And every time she tried to reach him and help him, it was always too late. The image her imagination had conjured up of his dead face was beginning to haunt her. She could never quite shake it from her mind.

And Matt had been right about Robert. Alice had discovered just what that surgeon's intentions had really been one night after he took her out for dinner at one of White Sand's fancier hotels. And it had not been at all pleasant. That night had left her angry and humiliated: humiliated that she could have believed Robert's lies about respecting her rights, that Matt had been right. Why was he always right?

"Alice." A voice shook her from her reverie.

"Oh," she gasped. It was him.

The golden light in his eyes faded in an instant and he tipped his hat and walked on, past her, down the main street.

"Matthew I'm sorry." Either he didn't hear or he chose to ignore her, because he kept walking and made no sign of turning around.

"Matthew! Matt," her cry became a plea. He stopped and turned his body slightly in her direction. Forcing herself to walk towards him, Alice tried to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch," she spat the word out with disgust. She was ashamed and she wanted him to know. "I judged when I had no right to. I figured I knew nothing of your past or anything. I was wrong, so so wrong." She shook her head sadly.

"There's nothing to know."

"That's rubbish! Of course there's plenty to know about you. For instance, why were you persistent when I was such a cow to you? Most men would have walked away long ago. But you never did, and you still haven't, considering you're standing here now."

Matt shrugged.

"You will tell me." Alice compelled him with her eyes.

"I'll tell you some things, but not others."

"Go on." She sat herself down on a stone wall that served as a fence for the presbytery. There were few people around so early to bother them.

Matt seated himself beside her and lit a cigarette, slowly and methodically. He offered it to her then took another from his breast pocket and touched its tip to hers. Taking a deep drag he frowned and said, "When did you first learn about sex?"

Shocked, the latter replied, "Oh, well, I don't know. Sixteen?" She couldn't stop herself from blushing.

"And that's probably pretty early." He took another drag.

"Well, I suppose so." Alice squirmed uncomfortably.

"I always knew what it was and how it was done. I never had any innocence about it at all. In fact I was never really ignorant about anything but war, but we all knew nothing about that," he grinned wryly.

"But surely it wasn't your parents who told you…"

"No. I never knew my mother or father." Matt's eyes had become cold and he spoke without emotion. "I'm a bastard. My father was a bushranger and a cattle duffer and a gold digger. He was a nasty piece of work and got lynched by a mob of angry stockmen who he'd stolen a couple of bob off before I was born. Quite a legend in the outback."

Alice didn't reply. She had nothing to say.

"He was German and my mother was the daughter of an Irish convict. A little whore by the sounds of it. She was only fifteen when she had me. Hated it so much she jumped into a billabong and never got out. I never had any parents, but I did have Auntie Love."

Alice saw his brown eyes shine warmly at the name.

"She was my mum if ever I had one. A native woman but that didn't matter a thing. She taught me all about the bush. White men think the land's all for the taking. But it's not. Auntie Love told me that the Earth is our Mother and that she looks after us. But she was shot when I was four. There was a brawl between the white stockmen and Blacks who lived on the station. Poor Auntie got caught up in it." His eyes grew glassy, but he just took another long drag and stared at the ground.

"But her son Billy Snakeskin took me on. I learnt how to drove cattle and shear sheep. I only went to school for two years when I was ten, because Bill got a hitch with a Yank who owned a station with five thousand head of cattle. Needed all the help he could get but Bill made me go. We were there for two years before Bill got lynched."

"That's horrible!" Alice creased her eyebrows with concern. "Just because they're black…"

"Means you can bloody well do what you will with 'em. The stockmen used to force the black women who worked on the stations into their beds. They used to scream but then they got beaten. I knew what went on 'cause Auntie Love would look after 'em." Here he shuddered involuntarily. He took a final long drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt over his shoulder.

" 'nother fag?" Alice shook her head, and he continued. "For nine years I wandered around that bloody country, droving, shearing you name it. And then came 1914. Well, I can tell you I was fed up with what I had which was nothing but my swag and the shirt on my back. So when the army called for recruits me and my mates were some of the first to join up. In the Light Horse of course." He grinned. "Six bob a day. We couldn't believe it."

"More than I got paid in the entire war," Alice said glumly.

Matt chuckled. "Pretty bloody stupid how they reckon they flog us off for nothing. But before we actually went to war life was sweet. I got given a mighty fine horse too. Called her Jessie." And, surprisingly, Matt reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tattered photograph. Three soldiers sat on horseback in front of the giant pyramid of Giza, their emu feathers waving and their faces plastered with huge grins. Peering closely at the photo, Alice saw that the central soldier was Matt, his hat cocked at its usual rakish angle.

"I climbed that thing," he pointed to the pyramid. "Put my name on top with the Frogs who came with Napoleon."

"What happened to Jessie? I mean, you didn't take her to France…" The Jessie of the photo stood tall and proud. Alice could imagine her glossy neck shining in the Egyptian sun and her handsome head tossing her mane as she pranced along with her soldier on her back. "She's beautiful."

"Aye." A shadow had passed over Matt's face and he resorted for some time to taking several heavy puffs of his cigarette.

"I didn't know the Light Horse went to France."

"They didn't. They went to Palestine. Horses are no good in mud but are mighty fine in a desert. And there is so much bloody sand over there all there is is desert. " He took another drag before continuing. "In early 1915 the top brass thought they'd send us someplace else. The Egyptians were tired of us and the Europeans were too busy for any colonials. We wouldn't be meeting Fritz for a while yet. Apart from the slight detour in Cairo…"

"With all your whoring and brawling and drinking I'd hardly call it a 'detour'," Alice interrupted.

"You're talkin' about the Wozzar." He laughed.

"Hmm," Alice stared disapprovingly at her hands in her lap.

"Well, I was bloody lucky. Never caught anything there or in France. Not that Walter let me go anywhere over there… said he wasn't gunna sit in the clink with me for being AWOL if he could help it," he chuckled. "Anyway, the pommies decided they wanted us to go to a place called Gallipoli. Well, we went alright. I've never seen so many flies. It was all bloody insane. But before we went to there, they told us to get rid of our horses. They couldn't feed that many and had nowhere to put 'em, so we had to shoot 'em or get a mate to do it. Well, I was blowed if I was gunna get someone else to do it. I'd brought her over here after all." Alice could see his eyes swimming, but he took an especially vigorous puff of his cigarette and said, "It was the worst thing I ever did in the whole flamin' war."

Alice sat with the photo cradled in her hands.

"You can keep it." Matt rose and pulled his hat down firmly over his eyes. "Now you know enough about me to write a book," he smiled ruefully and, tipping his hat, he was gone as suddenly as he'd appeared.

Alice felt numb. Poor Matt had been denied love all his life and now he thought he'd found it, in her. He'd already stolen half of her heart but there was one niggling piece of uncertainty that held her back from letting herself go. She had always been fairly distrustful of men and he was no exception. There was still the scar on her heart that her father had inflicted all those years ago, and to this day it continued to haunt her and throbbed painfully when she bought herself close to another man.

_Ahhhh what will happen? And what a long chapter! Sorry guys, but I'd been planning to write all that about my dear Matt for a while and I just couldn't leave it out! Well, the journey from Canada to Aussie is a long one so they'll have plenty more time to bond … if they get together at all :O oh I know, I am the master of suspense, aren't I? ;)_


	31. One Way Passage to Australia

One Way Passage to Australia

"I'd offer you some rum, but I think we drank it all last time." Matt chuckled as his friend frowned at the lack of alcoholic beverage in his house. "Well, it would be the least I could do. Send my Australian friend away on a good note." Walter grinned. He was going to miss Matt.

In the kitchen, Una was washing the dishes and singing a lullaby to Jerry to try to get him to sleep, or at least settle. But his older brother was not helping. Walter had decided it would be a great idea to tickle his brother and make him smile. Because up until now all he'd done was blow spit bubbles or yell really, really loudly so that his mother got angry.

"Oh, Alice, we thought you weren't going to make it," Una smiled warmly as her friend entered through the back door which opened into the little cottage kitchen. "Go and sit down and I'll bring you some tea. You look like you need it." She eyed the other woman's pale face with concern.

"Oh, thank you. Yes, is…"

"Yes, he's with Walter," Una replied gently. "I'm sure he'd like to say goodbye."

Goodbye? Alice felt like wailing out loud in the style of a petulant child. She never wanted to say goodbye to the man who made her feel as though her heart was about to fall out of her chest. Never! It hadn't taken her long to realise her predicament once she'd heard from Una that Matt planned to leave for Australia in April. She could see it in his eyes, but no words passed over his lips to suggest he was going to ask her to go with him. And she just couldn't muster the strength to ask him herself. Somehow she'd found herself deeply attached to this soldier, ever since that day in France when she'd kissed him and felt his lips against hers. She'd asked him to come back to her, but at the time it seemed like a mere passing whim of the heart. But now she was fairly convinced her fate had been sealed that day back in 1917, when the savage monster of war had been raging all around them.

Matt could feel it as soon as she entered the room; that irrational sense of desire he felt every time he saw her. It was as though he could barely control his thoughts. After her apology his heart had softened. It had melted like butter and once again he was madly in love with this beautiful nurse and wondering how on earth he would survive back home in Australia without her. Well, if she said no now, he'd never have to face her again anyway. And at least he would have tried. Tried. He shook his head in dismay.

Walter rose as she came in. "I'll go and help Una. She's still a bit weak. Jerry's not a real good sleeper you know," he said wryly.

Alice folded her slender form onto the chair Walter had occupied. She was so close he could have touched the smooth white skin of her neck. Touched it and kissed it and claimed her. She was staring at the blue table cloth, chewing, no doubt nervously, on one of her finger nails. Short nails, on beautiful, gentle hands. Matt gave an involuntary groan. It was the inexplicable pull of sexual attraction that fed his insatiable desire.

Her eyes darted upwards and met his as she realised he'd been staring at her. She rose suddenly as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks and spread. One look into his brown eyes revealed his lust for her and she panicked.

"Sorry, I should go and see if the kettle's boiled." She rose uncertainly.

"No." His chair fell backwards onto the floor with a crash. "Don't go anywhere."

Her throat tightened and she could feel tears pricking her eyes.

"I will ask once, and only once." He spoke slowly. "Will you come with me?"

Alice burst into bitter tears and covered her face with the palms of her hands, as if in shame.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Matt sounded slightly perplexed.

Alice nodded her blond head and wiped her eyes on her arm.

"Can I kiss you then?" His eyes were bright and eager and his mouth twisted into a cheeky grin.

Alice closed her eyes. She felt him grasp her waist with one strong hand and cup her cheek with the rough fingers of his other hand. But when his lips finally touched hers the sense of relief she felt was overwhelming. So much so that her knees felt weak and she let him push her against the dinner table. They kissed passionately, to say the least, Alice curling her legs around his as she sat on the table top, pulling him ever closer to her. And Matt letting his hands roam over her body, gently caressing all the places he had dreamed of so many times.

But make no mistake, when the _Lady Lucinda_ set sail next Friday she carried with her a newlywed couple whose future, although bright for now, was shadowed with uncertainty.

_Hooray and now we are all happy families and snoggies woo hoo! I think it is time on got onto our new Blythe kids. I think they're rather a lot of fun! Always keep faith _


	32. Toil and Trouble

Toil and Trouble

_August, 1930_

"Walter! Get back here right this minute and do your chores. Max is not going to feed himself." Max was the Blythe family's dog, a great brown German Shepherd. "Walter come here and do as I bid you," the boy's infuriated mother shouted at him.

"But mum, the boys are having bonfire tonight down at the dunes," growled a now thirteen year old Walter, his grey eyes glowering.

"A bonfire and what else, hmm?" Una pursed her lips at pointed a finger inside the door of the crowded cottage. She knew a few of the boys in the village smoked and recently the older Walter had been complaining of a constantly empty cigarette packet.

"But Jerry's already down there!" Walter tried one last time to get his own way.

"Why that naughty boy! To think I told him to be home by five and already it is six o'clock," the mother creased her eyebrows together with anger and concern. "You had better go and keep an eye on him then, lest he set the whole town on fire," Una assented grudgingly.

Jerry had, previously, set a building on fire although he was only nine. With the aid of some mouldy hay, a few homemade fire crackers and a gale force wind, the boy and his friends had, one night in early June, nearly burnt old Mr Jones' barn to the ground because of their antics. And a cheekier and more disruptive nine year old had never existed in the history of the island. With jet black hair, flashing eyes and a wilful smile, Jerry Blythe found it easy to wangle himself in and out of trouble on a daily basis, much to the concern of his mother.

"Mum, can we go too?" a small voice wedeled.

With a huff Una said she supposed her seven year old twins could, as long as they stayed with their older brother. With a final warning and threat should they get into trouble and their father find out, the twins set off down the road, singing and dancing merrily, delighted at their freedom.

The twins were Matt and Alice, and looked rather remarkably like their namesakes. John Matthew Blythe was a serious faced individual, with the same passion his father had had in his youth for the beauties of world. He had dark brown hair and deep blue eyes like his mother, and he was shy and spoke little. Alice Rosemary Cecelia Blythe, on the other hand, made up for her brother's seeming lack of vigour with her own vivacious personality. She was strong willed and used her doe like brown eyes and long golden hair to their full advantage. But the light and laughter she brought to all those around her was invaluable. Her father called her his 'Little Echo'.

With one last sigh and a sweeping gaze down the hill that housed their home, the little mother turned her tired eyes back to her house and her cooking. It may have only been potato and onion soup, but it was better than last winter; the first winter since the global markets had crashed into a pitiful heap and when food and jobs had suddenly become very scarce. It pained Una to think that her children could only afford to wear their ragged coats and scuffed shoes in winter. It was hard enough spreading the money around to feed the family's six mouths. After Walter had lost his job a year ago at the university, the family had found it difficult to make ends meet, Una eventually having to resort to washing other women's washing for them, to ensure her four children had food in their bellies that night. It had been a bitter winter, but they had not been alone in their struggles.

Abruptly, Una looked up from the shirt she was patching.

"Walter! I – what – " she stood, speechless. Her husband remained in the doorway, his grey eyes fixed on hers.

"I had to. Where else was I going to get a job?" he stood with his hands by his sides, dressed in an officer's uniform. "The army pays better than most, and they like the fact I can speak German and did some work when I was in France." He smiled ruefully. It was ironic he'd ended up back in the institution which had, back in 1915, destroyed half his soul. It had denied him his imagination and then the ability to tell his wife he still lived. But he'd be blowed if he was going to continue seeing his family in nothing but rags!

"Oh darling," his wife shook her head. "The children have gone down to the dunes. Apparently someone's organised a bonfire."

"Not Jerry, I hope," Walter chuckled, sitting down. He had resolved himself not to worry over his second son, since worrying did nothing but wear a soul to death. No harm had come to him for nine years and he was happy to believe that he'd be safe for another nine.

"Well …" the mother glanced apprehensively out the window.

"He'll be fine, Una. Don't worry."

"Oh, I don't know Walter! All this is getting to me," Una fretted.

"What is? He learnt his lesson last time. Old Jones gave him a fair hiding," here Walter chuckled again, remembering his son's downcast face when he came home from school one afternoon. There had been no mischief for three whole days after that. But it hadn't lasted. The school master's new pooch had proved too hard a temptation to resist. (Jerry dyed it green with the aid of a packet of old hair dye, a rainy day and a bucket of river water.)

"Well, Jerry always gets to me," she admitted with a weak smile, "but, oh Walter I think I might have seen Faith the other day in White Sands! Only I wasn't sure so I ducked into Hendley's and pretended to buy some soap, hoping she would have gone by the time I came out."

"Did she see you?" Walter face had become suddenly grave. This issue weighed heavily on his mind as well, though he kept it hidden.

"No, but I can't stop thinking about it. And Alice knows. She does. I don't know how but she suspects something is not right. And you know what she's like; won't leave well enough alone. She started to ask if she had an Uncle Billy as well yesterday after spending time with Josie Mc Donald. Maureen's brother has come from a visit from Germany and it's all the family have been able to talk about this past month. It really made me think."

"Well," Walter said eventually, never a man of too many words nowadays, "Well maybe we should go and see. It's been so long and I suppose we can't leave it buried forever." And so it was settled. After all these years of avoidance, Walter and Una Blythe were finally going to 'see' if their family still existed, or if they now belonged entirely to another realm of their existence. They had avoided the issue for so long it had nearly become a habit to keep the wartime secret hidden beneath the surface of their everyday lives.

_Dum dum dum! What will happen next? Angst and heartbreak guys. And yes, I am wondering whether we need some WW2 in here. I have it all plotted out in my brain how it would work too… hence why Walter has once again joined the army. Weird and out of character? Hey, the Depression didn't allow for picking an choosing._


	33. A Storm and a Reunion

A Storm and a Reunion

_September 1930_

"Alice!"

Oh God keep her safe, please kept her safe, Walter prayed silently.

"Alice! Where are you…"

How could he ever forgive himself for losing her? He had only let her out of his sight for a few seconds, but it had been enough. Now she was gone, nowhere to be seen.

The morning had begun fine enough, but by lunch time dark clouds had gathered ominously on the horizon. Caught in the sudden onset of the thunder storm, Walter and his family had sought shelter in the station waiting room. Walter had turned his head to say a few words to his wife and when he looked back, Alice was no longer beside him. His little golden haired maiden had slipped away.

"Walter, I'll wait here with the children until the storm is over and then walk up to the Manse. If I don't go now I'll never go at all," Una blinked her tears away.

"I don't think we should separate-"

"No," Una interrupted her husband. "You'll find her. She can't have gone far."

So Walter raised the collar of his greatcoat and pulled his hat down over his eyes and set off into the pelting rain in search of his "Little Echo".

Alice had always been a 'hop out of kin', like her father had been. But unlike him, she was far more concerned with what was said to her by others, especially in reference to her appearance. Everyone else in her family had dark hair and blue or grey eyes, but Alice had rippling gold tresses and deep brown eyes. One spiteful child had even gone so far as to suggest that perhaps Alice had been adopted, which would account for a lot of things. The malicious words easily corrupted the young child's mind and she quickly became convinced that it was not physically possible for two black haired people to have a blond daughter. Not to mention the hushed talk of a seemingly secret family that went on between her parents when they thought no young ears were listening.

Armed with this knowledge, Alice had solemnly made the decision to go in search of her real family. But finding the right time was difficult, with so many siblings and a somewhat overprotective mother. And the thought that her 'family' was not really her own also plagued her yet unscathed heart.

So when the family went for a family outing one Saturday, Alice decided that that would be the day when she would go in search of her real mother and father. She would uncover the truth because, at five years of age, she was a big girl and had every right to know what had really happened. Whilst standing in the waiting room at Glen St Mary station, something inside Alice stirred. A little whisper telling her that this was the right moment to embark on her great journey.

As she stepped out into the rain, Alice closed her eyes briefly and tried to feel which way her heart was pulling her. It urged her up the muddy road that curved away around the hill into the outskirts of the town. Squinting through the driving rain, she spied a church spire away up above her and decided to get that far and then reassess her bearings. Fearlessly and with great determination, she began to plod up the road, sticking to the side.

A faint cry startled Alice awake. Peeping out of the church doorway, Alice saw that outside the rain had slowed and the light was fading. Why, she must have nodded off!

"Alice!" the cry was distant but never the less it shouted her name.

With a gasp of concern, the little girl shook her wet body and stepped out once more into the weather to continue her quest. She couldn't be caught now, not when she was so close! The little whisper in her heart reassured her of this. Carefully, so as not to get any holes in her stockings, Alice crossed the old graveyard, climbing over some of the fallen headstones and staring at the hideous statues of angels and cherubs, wondering why someone would want such an ugly thing to remember them by.

"Alice!" She felt her heart constrict at the sound but pressed on, running eagerly down the hill behind the graveyard that led to what seemed to be a grove of trees in a hidden valley.

Walter's face was haggard and his eyes haunted, after looking around the entire town and not finding a single sign of his daughter. Not even the few people who walked the wet streets had seen a little girl in a blue coat with hair as bright as summer sunshine.

"Where in God's name are you Alice?" he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a church spire high up on the hill above the township. The Manse! Common sense told Walter that a girl of five could not possibly climb all that way in the middle of a storm, but his heart compelled him to think otherwise. Besides, he couldn't avoid walking in that direction forever.

Crying and shivering, Alice stood looking up at the huge brown oak door with the brass knocker. The house's shiny nameplate spelt out the letters I-N-G-L-E-S-I-D-E. Scrunching her face in concentration, Alice tried to make out the name of the beautiful place. It had been the warm yellow light shining from the windows and cheery laughter that echoed inside that had drawn her to it. It seemed to exude an aura of warmth and calm. Perhaps these people would know where her real family was. One thing was certain, she felt her small, frozen feet could not carry her much farther without a bout by a warm wood fire.

As Walter approached the Manse he thought he spied a small figure disappearing down the hill that led to the old hollow that had once been fondly called Rainbow Valley. After a quick look around the old house and graveyard, ensuring he kept well out of the way of the windows, Walter paused and frowned with concern. He was so close now; they all were. Una was mounting the steep path now, carrying Matt on one hip with Walter following closely behind, and Jerry coming along in leaps and bounds, from muddy puddle to muddy puddle. Seeing Una pause, he glanced over the hollow to the big brick house on the other side. A painful lump formed in his throat as he glanced at the building that had once been his home.

"Oh dear, where is she? Why did she run away, it is so unlike Alice to do such a thing!" Una's deep blue eyes were red rimmed with worry. "Whatever are we going to do now?" This was said in referral to their close proximity to the aforesaid brick home.

"We go to Ingleside." The word sounded dull and empty, like the grey clouded sky above them.

Una shivered and glanced down at the muddy road as her husband strode purposefully towards the place and people they had hidden from so long.

After trying in vain to reach the brass knocker, Alice had taken to beating her small fists against the solid wooden door. After waiting for a few minutes, she heard muffled footsteps approaching. But they weren't just from inside the mysterious house. A crunching of gravel accompanied the sound. She turned.

"Alice, don't go a step further," but Walter's warning came too late, for at that very moment the door opened, pouring golden light into the grey darkness of the afternoon.

"What was that?"

"Sounded like a knock," a young doctor Blythe looked up from his newspaper.

"At this time? And on such an afternoon? Really Jem," his wife reproved him.

"Open the door, Faith. It's so wet outside whoever is there won't be there for long," an elderly lady with long grey hair and bright green eyes sat by the roaring fire with a rug over her lap.

The young woman rose gracefully from her chair by the window. As she opened the heavy oak door, a gust of damp air swirled into the hallway, sending goose bumps up her spine. For a moment she barely moved, then her jaw dropped and her mouth hung open in shock.

"Faith who is it?" the older doctor peered down the hallway towards the open doorway. "Good God."

"Dad, what's going – " Jem started.

"Jem!" an urgent cry called from the living room. "Jem, who is it?"

"Good Lord!" Jem exclaimed. "Walter!"

The family stood on the porch, their hair dripping and their faces pale with cold. Their coats were covered in dark stains where the water had soaked through. Una was carrying Matt in her aching arms and the younger Walter stood behind his mother with Jerry, still for once, holding tightly onto his left hand, his face half hidden from view. Walter stood, his face blank, his sobbing daughter clasped tightly in his arms.

"Hello Jem, Faith," he said stiffly, feeling extremely disconcerted at their apparent lack of words. "Long time no see, eh?"

The family continued staring at one and other, motionlessly, their eyes shadowed as though they'd seen a ghost.

_Ahahahahahaa! Will they become one big happy family once more or have they severed their ties forever? You shall see! _

_Always keep faith_


	34. Life in Down Under

Life in Down Under

Alice stood by the door of the homestead, looking out fondly over the fields of waving grass that stretched for miles in each direction, as far as the eye could see. The tablelands in Queensland were beautiful, and had captured her soul from the moment she saw them. Huge, seemingly empty expanses, filled with thousands of head of cattle and all under an enormous, piercing blue sky. At the sound of shouting she turned her still golden head towards the gum tree lined creek. A gentle smile crept onto her face. The children, all five of them, were enjoying a last swim for the day before the sun sank completely below the horizon.

Presently she felt a pair of strong brown hands clasp her around the waist. Matt kissed her softly on the back of the neck, where her skin was still smooth and white, protected by her thick hair from the sun and the elements.

"What are you thinking about?"

Smiling, Alice replied, "Oh, everything. Isn't it beautiful this evening? I just can't imagine being anywhere else." She covered Matt's hands with her own and leaned back against his muscular chest. Glancing up at him, she let her blue eyes shine with love.

"Tell me you're not going to the sales again?"

"Well I kinda have to," Matt said reluctantly. "The cows won't sell themselves."

His wife laughed softly and was about to turn her gaze back to the darkening land when he caught her lips with his own. Even after nearly a decade of marriage the bond between the two was stronger than it had ever been. Alice had proven to be a strong and resilient farmer's wife, knowing how and when to help her husband run and manage the outback station he had bought on his return to Australia all those years ago. She was a valued member of the local township six miles away and was often called upon to assist women in their time of need by honing in on her midwifery skills. And, truth be told, she wouldn't have traded her life, hard as it may be, for all the riches of the world. Because to Alice her husband and children _were_ the riches of the world. Sometimes Matt was away for months at a time, ensuring their cattle got to the sale yards in places as far away as Darwin. Other times the rain fell so heavily the inland river beds, that were usually dry, flooded their banks and bathed the land in a red swirling river of dust and water. And then there were periods of drought, where the cattle and horses grew so thin they appeared to be mere walking skeletons.

"Tea is ready. You'd better go call the children. They're down by the creek," Alice released herself from her husband's embrace and bade him go in the direction of the billabong.

"They'll be a while yet," Matt grinned cheekily at her, his skin ingrained with red dust from the earth. He loved his children very much, but it was rare these days that he got time alone with his darling wife.

Alice only blushed crimson as he ran his hands over her breasts and began to kiss her deeply. She smiled and let him undo the buttons down the back of her dress as she ran her fingers through his short brown hair. He smelled of dirt, sweat and leather; comforting scents, that reminded her of where she truly belonged.

_Aw they are so dam cute, eh? And if you don't get any of the Aussie lingo then give me a poke and I'll explain. Actually, that goes for this entire fic … doonas anyone? ;)_

_Always keep faith_


	35. A Long Way Home

A Long Way Home

Una stooped to pick up the brown envelope that lay on the stone floor by the front door of the cottage. Turning it over, she recognised Alice's neat, copperplate handwriting. Smiling, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door all the while her thoughts on what the letter contained. It was rare that they received letters from Matt and Alice: Australia was a very long way away.

"Who's that from?"

Una lifted her eyes from the letter in her hands and smiled at her husband.

"Matt and Alice. At last. I don't believe we've heard from them since November last year. And it's March now."

"Hmm, he was probably busy with the sales," Walter mused. "Well go on then, open it up. Don't leave us in suspense." He grinned.

The couple sat down at the rough wooden table in the kitchen and lay the letter out before them.

_February 1933_

_Dear all,_

_I would have listed you all but there are so many of you and I know that Walter only wrote 'all' in your last letter to us. Never mind. We do apologise for taking so long in replying. Christmas passed us by with much joy for this year as we had plenty of rain and the creeks were full to the brim. The plains are covered in flowers now that the water has receded and if I had one of those marvellous cameras I would take a photo for you. I have rarely seen anything more beautiful than the Australian wildflowers._

_The children are well and will go back to school soon, thank goodness really for it is too difficult trying to keep them all in line, especially since we've been so busy with the cattle over summer. And with the swollen rivers it is nothing short of a nightmare keeping the little ones within my sight. Unfortunately there was a bout of fever going around in February and George got rather ill. We took him to the hospital 100 miles away but there was not much they could do for him and we hadn't the money to look any further. He died a week ago and we've all found it terribly hard to move on. He was such a darling and my heart breaks to think we will see him no more. But I trust he has gone to a better place and that one day, God willingly, we'll be reunited._

_David and Phillip will be leaving before long to work. It is not unusual around here for boys of fourteen to leave home and work on stations and farms. The nearest town is much too far away and besides they'd much rather be out with the 'real' men than stuck in town… I would be like school all over again! The boys will most likely stay at here at Moruya Downs but David has quite a knack when it comes to breaking in horses, which Matt is very pleased about. Lucy and Mel are working hard and both strongly dislike knitting, which I am somewhat not surprised about considering I can't stand it either! Johnnie will start school soon but he is not looking forward to it without George. Jessie is quite the little rascal. Only the other day I caught her with her hand in a neighbour's biscuit tin! The nerve that child has!_

_The news from Europe is growing more concerning by the day and I can't keep from my mind the fact that our boys will soon be the right age to fight should it all come to that (which Matt thinks it will). Herr Hitler as the paper's like to call him is a bad egg _(here Matt's scrawl had taken over from his wife's neat cursive)_ and this is only the beginning. He's looney as a cow with a dead calf… Sorry, Matt had to have his two pence! But hopefully our leaders will have the sense to avoid another blood bath at any cost. And if they don't _(Matt's scrawl interrupted again)_, we'll have to go and show Fritz how it's done all over again eh Walt! _(Walter chuckled as he read what Matt had wrote…he could hear Matt's voice through his words quite clearly)

_I wish you all good health and happiness and know that we (down here in Australia) cling onto the hope that one day we may all meet again. But for now, we have included a picture by which to remember us by, and it shouldn't change, because I honestly don't know if I could handle anymore children!_

_All our love and prayers,_

_Alice, Matt, Dave, Phil, Johnnie and George (even though he ain't here no more…Johnnie told me to write it), Lucy and Mel._

Una couldn't help but wipe her eyes after reading the letter. She missed Alice and Matt and wished fervently that they didn't have to rely on letters as the only form of communication between them. She longed to see their children who had become so real to her over the years through the multiple discourses that had travelled over the long distance from Australia to Canada. But what really made her heartache was the loss of one of their beloved children. Unfortunately, that same experience was not far from her family's hearts either.

"We're not the only ones who have lost out on that score," Walter said sadly, wrapping a supportive arm around his wife's shaking back.

It was only a month since baby Holly Grace had died on the same day she had come into the world; a pale, feeble but very well loved infant by her family. The longer she dwelled on the thought, the harder Una cried. For now not only had she her pain and loss in her heart, but that of Alice too.

"Una, my love, please. If the children see you crying they'll start too and I don't know if Alice can handle any more heart break at the moment (she had recently experienced her first rejection by the love of her life… three days). At this Una couldn't help but turn her tears into laughter.

"Oh Alice, how she'll regret being so foolish in times to come. Fancy crying in front of the entire class and then _confessing to your soulless male teacher_ that your chosen one decided you were too emotional to be his eternal flower of love. I think I am partially to blame on that account. She can't have gotten her florid descriptions from you, my dear, or from those drab books they teach them from these days." Walter chuckled some more, recalling past antics his daughter had taken part in.

"She could have done worse, I suppose, but I hate to think how! Well, when all's said and done she is a darling and so are they all. I don't know what I would do without them, or you," Una rested her head on her husband's shoulder. "I dread to think where I'd be now if you hadn't come back, and Alice. Oh Walter how I love you!"

Walter kissed his love gently on the cheek as the door to their house burst open with the interminable energy of their children's return. As the house began to fill with the rise and swell and echo of the voices of its inhabitants, Walter focused his still molten-grey eyes to the bay view out the window. And, peering over the horizon, frowned at what he saw. But, instead of dwelling on the future, he embraced the present that was throbbing and pulsing with the joy, love and peace of fulfilment. Turning to his wife he said, "We've finally made it Una. We've come full circle more or less. But you know, it really has been _a long way home_."

A/N: DONE DONE COMPLETE FINISHED FIN FINITO WOOHOO! Thanks to all for persisting with me and my wild imaginings and yes, ooooh ominous ending (I just couldn't resist!), so always keep faith and God Bless!


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